As she leaves her room, she hears Asad's voice in the "Mat jao Zoya"
video on her laptop. Reluctant to leave herself, she suggests a coin toss as the ultimate decider. Asad manages to fool everyone,
except for Tanu, that the coin fell in favor of Zoya staying back in India. Zoya goes to his room to ask about his confession in
the video, he denies it, and she plays it back for him on her phone. Embarrassed, he does his
usual "Voh, actually, main" routine which doesn't convince her.

FAIR USE: Almost all of Zoya's shayari in this FF is from the Zee TV show, "Qubool Hai." I wouldn't know how to write shayari!

I have blatantly inserted scenes and some dialogues from the show into my narrative. This is purely in homage to a show and characters that I fell in love with, and I want to give the show's writers and creatives full credit.

My FF takes us into an alternate Asya universe from that point mentioned above: "Mat jao Zoya."

Readers may notice the inclusion of pictures from the show. I'd like to acknowledge fans who've edited these graphics; I know nothing about these skills! I hope I'm not infringing on any copyright. If readers want to let me know about any copyright violations, then please leave a comment as well as information about the creator; I would love to give credit to these dedicated and masterful fans.

A lot of the stills are from the KaBhi twitter account hosted by @janicemoraes31. And a few others are from Forum 32. The gifs have been created by a diverse number of Asya fans who I'm indebted to.

She sat down on her bed and watched the video again. With her thumb she
gently touched the screen when his face appeared.

"Actually, main khud ko express karne mein utna accha nahin hoon."

Ya think, Mr. Khan?

But she smiled.

"Itni si chhoti si baat tumse nahin keh pa raha hoon."

Tumse?

Never had he said 'tum' or 'tumse' before.

It was always the icily polite, "aap."

For the hundredth time, she marveled at how torn he looked; the hesitation, the look in his eyes when he looked straight into the camera, the intensity in the tone of his
words …

"Main nahin chahta ki tum jao."

Everything added up.

It had to.

The realization sent shivers down her spine.

He does really want me to stay back!

I always called him
emotionally challenged, and yet this video says so much.

He does feel something for me! He even said Zoya! Usually he hides behind "Ms. Farooqui."

But was it love that he felt for her…?

She felt a jolt in her
heart.

Could it be? She hadn't dared to admit this to herself but didn't she feel the same about him? Wasn't it that love with a capital 'L'? The ishq wala love, that Najma
and she were discussing once?

That racing of her heart each time she ended up in his arms …

When he danced with her on Valentine's Day? When he held her at the farmhouse? And countless other times when he rescued her, heck even when he glowered and yelled at her? She had never challenged another man so.

She shivered feeling that punch in her gut.

C'mon, I even felt jealous each time he showed affection and concern for Tanu!

I totally meant it when I told him that I've come to rely so much on his strength, "when I'm in trouble, I think, Mr. Khan sab theek kar denge!"

Her mind replayed some of the most intense moments she had shared
with him. How he had come at just the right time and fought for her safety when
Akram had forcibly tried to marry her, his fury at the injuries they'd inflicted on her, his reluctant protectiveness during the
Mangalpur fiasco, how he had helped her find information about her father and
been a pillar of strength and support when he told her about his death. He brought coffee for me … listened to me about Abbu and Ammi, my fear of fire … and now this … and lying about the coin being heads when it was really ...

He does care!

She hugged the phone to her, hopeful and confident.

"Kash, main keh paata …"

Aap kyun nahin kehte hain, Mr. Khan?

Mr. Khan, please sab theek kar dijiye.

Please say it!

All afternoon and evening, Zoya stayed in her room agonizing over her
feelings for him and feeling elated yet scared about the possibility of
him reciprocating those feelings. At the dinner table Najma chattered on, not noting her accomplice's quiet pensiveness.

Zoya couldn’t take it anymore. And she wasn't the kind to dwell for too long over thinking things. She made decisions swiftly and she stuck to those decisions, whatever the consequences.

After dinner, she resolved to talk to him. She ran through several rehearsals in her head.

"Aap nahin kahenge. So I'll say it, for both of us …"

No. That hardly sounded like a confession of love. I don't want to nag or guilt him into confessing his love for me. Jeez, Zoya!

There she had said it, the L word.

Yes, I do love Mr. Khan!

She giggled and tried again: "Mr. Khan, this is equally hard for me to say. But if I don't, then we'll never be together …"

Hmm. Much better.

How about …?

Enough! She didn't need lame rehearsals to delay the inevitable. The words would come. She was not Zoya Farooqui for nothing!

She barged into his room without knocking. He was on his settee at his
laptop, and looked up in exasperation.

"Ms. Farooqui, how many times do I have to tell you about knocking
first?"

In her usual fashion she ignored his irritation and the way his hand
crept up to his forehead to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

"Mr. Khan," she said softly.

He went still.

There was something
in her tone, the texture of her breathy voice ... the way she hesitated, that alerted him to something bothering
her. She looked eager, yet timid. She had spoken too softly, not her style.

"Umm ... Mr. Khan, I want to talk to you about something."

He couldn't believe that she of all people was having a hard time saying outright what
she wanted to say. Never before had she prefaced her speech with words seeking permission. Usually, she bulldozed her way in and yelled at him, or picked a fight, and even pronounced him an insensitive se*xist from the seventeenth century.

Oh boy, this was going to be something big. He just knew it.

Ms. Farooqui, and nervous about saying something? That's new.

His heart missed a beat, but he said nothing, just gazed at her intently.

" I ... I know that I call you emotionally challenged all the time ..."

Oh god, here she goes again, he sighed.

He couldn't take his eyes off the pulse in her neck, or her unsure lips.

"But ..."

Hmm, more hesitation? This should be interesting, he wondered. But his heart flipped and bounced around erratically in his chest. His eyes were drawn to her agitated fingers, twisting and squeezing nervously.

"I now realize that you're an intensely private person and … and as you
said in the video, I know now, that you have a hard time expressing your
emotions. I'm sorry that I taunted and nagged you about it."

That damn video! But an actual apology from Ms. Farooqui!

He couldn't tell where this was going. But he sensed a difference and shift in
her. He knew that something momentous was coming, she was leading up to
something big because he'd never known her to be so tongue-tied, or be so careful
about the choice of her words. Her agitated hands were a blur now.

He still said nothing.

Zoya began to panic.

His brooding silence was intimidating.

Allah Miyan … ?

She felt the blood rush to her
face.

Allah miyan, am I doing the right thing, she wondered for the millionth
time.

Gripping her hands tightly, she plodded on, "but I am not like you.
I … I am open about my feelings."

Her nails dug into her palms, and she
clenched her eyes shut as she swallowed, "I ... I like you a lot."

Her voice broke, "... and ... and I
hope that I never have to leave. I want to love your mom and sister as mine and
be a part of your family."

She ran out of his room and into her own, slammed the door to lean heavily against it.

Good job Zoya, she mentally patted herself on her back. Not bad at all.

At least now there is nothing unsaid and unheard between us anymore. Now
the ball is in his court. He can either be alone with his best friends
"Tehzeeb," “Tameez,” and "Lihaaz" or he can tell me how he really
feels. She giggled at her wit and then sighed.

Zoya hugged herself tightly and re-lived some of the moments of closeness
between them, how he was always there to catch her from falling, how they
tended to be lost in each other's eyes when they got so close. Mr. Khan, please!

But he won't say it, a voice whispered in her head. He is not the type, it insisted more loudly now. Look how long it took him to say "mat jao Zoya!"

A grim idea stuck her numb, and her smile evaporated.

What if he doesn't feel the same way about me?

She remembered that moment in the farmhouse when they had come inside
from the rain and sat side by side on the sofa. She still got warm and gooey all over
thinking of those beautiful words he's said, so passionately:

All other memories came flooding back: how he detested the
way she dressed, or when she argued with him. How her messiness seemed to always put
him on edge.

How he had yelled at her about the gas cylinder, bailing her out of jail, the
cricket match, Najma's wig … the attack on Phuphi! The list was endless.

And so was her misery. She nearly gagged on the horror.

That is why he hasn't ever said anything, and never will.

Oh my
god, I'm so stupid.

He still thinks I'm interfering and irresponsible, childish and insolent … that I
nearly killed his family with that gas leak. He thinks I'm a bad
influence on Najma. He dislikes my wearing jeans. He thinks me unladylike and loud, badtameez and …

"Aap misfit hain … kabhi ek acchi bahu ya biwi nahin ban sakteen."

She sobbed.

He even hit me when he thought that I'd endangered Phuphi's life. And although he's apologized for that, his opinion of me has barely improved!

Allah miyan, Zoya what's wrong with you?

You stupid, dumb girl!

She flashbacked to yet another favorite opinion of his regarding her:

"Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin pata hai!"

He would never want to
be with someone like me! He said so that day, that no matter how he feels, he
would never give in to his emotions. It wasn't that he was emotionally challenged, it was that he looked at emotions and love as a sign of weakness, something to be resisted. And feelings for a woman like me? I'm nobody, illegitimate, and representative of everything he detests in women. He likes women like Tanu, well-mannered, highly accomplished, demure and conservative.

Even Phuphi was talking of how everyone used to say that Asad and Tanveer should get married.

And even if he does feel something for me, he'll fight these feelings to his dying breath.

She broke down.

Oh my god! she wept.

I can fight his silence, but not
his prejudice. He likes me but hates himself for liking me.

I'm so stupid.

Why
am I always so impulsive? So blind? Why did I have to go and make such a fool of
myself?

She thought about going back to his room, but stopped herself.

How can I
ever face him again?

She paced in her room and then decided to take the coward's way out by
texting him.

"Please ignore all the stupid things I said. I'm sorry for being so
inappropriate."

She broke down after sending it.

He is right about you.

You are such an idiot! No self-restraint, no sense of decorum. And you just confirmed every negative thing he thinks about you.

In
his room, a shocked Asad still stood in the same spot, blitzed and rooted to the ground. He thought about what she had said. His mind churned.

But his
heart thumped and rejoiced.

I
want you to stay forever with me … with us too. I just can’t say it so openly
because I don’t have your courage … Ammi always did say that I over think things.

He
was surprised by how clear his mind was about his feelings though.

All these months of
awkward and silent attraction, the strange pull he felt each time she laughed
or pouted or bristled in anger at him. He thought of how, so often these days, he would like
to provoke her by his strictness or seriousness just to see her eyes widen in
response and then stab him with their glare as she retorted, “oh really?” The feel of her in his arms that night when she'd nagged him about dancing? The vision of her in a saree? What were the words he'd said to her that day … mere khwabon mein aapke saye kyun? The jolt he'd felt when she said, "aap bhi toh dekhne waali cheez hain na Mr. Khan!" The way she called him Mr. Khan. Only once she'd called him Asad, and hadn't he yearned to hear his name …? He had certainly loved pranking her at Holi!

Had
it really been love all along? Love …?

If not, then what was that "mat jao Zoya," video plea all about? Why couldn't he bear the thought of her leaving? Why pretend that the coin toss had been in favor of her staying back in India? Why not admit that when he had seen her injured at the bus accident site, and fallen into a dead faint in his arms, his heart had stopped cold. Admit it, you can't bear it when she's in pain. When you hit her, the cut she got, the anger you'd felt course through you when you saw her bleeding at Akram's house. When that bas*tard had slashed her hands ...

Asad ran his hand through his hair in agitation.

He hadn't even realized the camera was still recording last night. Having recorded his real message to wish her luck for the trip and her life, he had turned around and stared into the heartless night. It had seemed darker, the sky more starless.

When Zoya had showed the video to him this morning he'd been so embarrassed.

And terrified that she knew how he really felt about her.

Somehow he'd stuttered his way out by pretending to be angry and impatient just so he could get her off his back.

He had sighed in relief when she stormed out of his room.

But she had just stormed right back in.

He grinned.

Only Zoya!

Asad remembered the first time he'd seen her at the
dargah. He had been a man bewitched. Her tears that day had affected him so strongly.

Those tears were his own. He had flinched when she wiped her cheek. Was it because he had seen the dark bridal mehendi on her hands?

He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

He had wanted to wipe her tears away, rest
her head on his shoulders, and promise her that she would never cry again. The intensity of his emotional attraction to her that day had staggered him. But their next few meetings had thankfully erased that powerful tug.

Or so he thought.

She had been insolent and defiant, and he'd tried to put her in her place. But she'd given her own back.

And then a few days later, he'd found her in his bed.

Asad glanced at the bed.

His heart hammered and hands fisted.

He crashed on the settee, holding his head in his hands.

Zoya! Why can't I get you out of my head?

He stretched out, hands behind his head now.

Truth be told, he
still couldn’t bear to see her cry, and ached to hold her whenever he saw her
with her father’s music box.

When she had broken down at her father's gravesite, he wanted to crush her in his arms and hold her till her soul was mended. And his.

He still remembered it so vividly.

When he had looked up that day at the dargah to
find her gone, he had felt a hollow sense of unexplained loss.

And now he had the chance to ...

His phone pinged, and he looked at the sender’s name and smiled fully. Tracing her name with his finger, Asad opened it eagerly. He read
Zoya’s text with a sinking heart.

No! Please, it wasn't stupid at all! I was stupid for not saying anything.

He felt terrible that his reticence and
unfounded fears of hurt and betrayal were making her doubt herself. He needed to talk to her, to tell her ...

“It’s private, can we go to
your room? I’ll bring badaam milk which you used to like so much.”

“OK.”

He walked into his room, but not before looking back at Zoya’s closed door for
one last time impatiently.

Tanu
had already prepared the milk. All that was needed was to slip something into
the glass.

“I’m sorry, Jammy. But this is the only way out for me.”

She
carried the tray into Asad’s room.

The door closed.

Zoya
was miserable in her room. She sat on the floor by the bed, unconsciously
hugging herself close.

Please ... If you saw the text, come tell me that I’m not stupid, or a loser. Tell me that you do think I am good for you and your family. Please! Tell me I'm not a misfit.

The misery multiplied with each ticking second.

How am I going to face him tomorrow? Stupid idiot! What were you thinking?

She
kept looking toward door; her tears fell, and she rocked herself.

In
his room, Asad listened distractedly to Tanu, surreptitiously looking at the time
as it got later and later into the night. Tanu talked of rebooting her life and starting over.
Could he help her?

“Of
course, whatever you need.” Just hurry up, please!

She
urged him to drink the milk and started to monotonously drone on about her
business plans and to rebuild her life here in Bhopal with his support.

Because she felt so close to his family.

He
nodded vaguely in agreement.

He
began to feel disoriented and sat down heavily on the bed. As he tried to put away the
half-drunk glass of milk, she coaxed, “oh, you don’t look so well, Jammy. Drink up, and
you’ll feel a lot better.”

Not
wanting to create a fuss, as well as speed the meeting along, he did. He hoped this would get her to finish sooner
so that he could go talk to Zoya, take her in his arms ...

But
why was he feeling dizzy ... ?

He
collapsed on the bed.

Next
morning found Zoya asleep on the floor of her room, curled up in a ball.

Asad
woke up in his bed with a terrible headache. He looked down at himself groggily and saw
that he was undressed. Surprised, he turned to the side to see a naked female
back. Wide awake now, he jumped up in alarm.

God
knows why he thought or hoped it would be Zoya, but he tried to shake her awake
and almost yelled at her.

How
could she send him that text and then do this ...?

The
woman turned.

It wasn’t Zoya.

He
was shocked and dismayed.

“Oh
my god, what happened?”

Hastily
she covered herself up and promptly burst into tears. Through loud sobs she told him how they
both got carried away when she started to cry last night and he tried
to console her.

He couldn't process her words.

His head felt woolly; it pounded.

Carried away? What the hell was she talking about?

Her wails were grating on his shredded nerves.

What? How?

“What's going to happen to me now? I'm ruined. How could you do this to me?”

He
tried to calm her down, mortified and panicked. Why can’t I remember anything? What is happening? How did …?

“It’ll
be OK. It’s not the end of the world. Just please stop crying.”

She lashed out at him, “it may not be for you, but it's the end of the world for me! I’m damaged goods now.
Already I’m all alone in the world. And now this,” she continue to wail.

Asad's eyes widened. He winced. The bright light hurt. He
was in a state of utter panic and horror.

She
screamed, “how? How will you take care of this? What if I get pregnant? How
will I raise the child all on my own? Will you marry me and make this right?

He felt shame and resentment bubble up and choke him. No! Never! But taking
a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, he ceded all hope and signed away his miserable life away, “yes, I'll marry you.”

She
hugged him through her tears and he held her awkwardly, hollow with complete horror and self-disgust.

Squeezing
his eyes shut, with images of Zoya swirling through his mind, he silently pledged, “I'm sorry Zoya.”

At breakfast Dilshad and Najma bustled around the kitchen. Zoya
was in the background trying to smile as Najma nattered on. Act like nothing's happened, she kept reminding herself.

An hour at a time.

A day at a time.

It can't get any worse, can it?

In the bright light of the morning, she had felt that may be she hadn't completely ruined everything. She could fake some cheer and may be make a joke out if it. She could pretend that she was pulling his leg, he could frown in disapproval, and she'd tease him with that dumb sher of hers, "kab kahenge Jahanpanah six packs …" Oh god, you stupid, dumb moron!

Thank you Allah Miyan! At least she hadn't said, I love you!

Tanu came in smiling, and Mr. Khan trudged in after her with a heavy tread. Zoya's heart dropped. Them coming out together like this from his room, her dressed so traditionally, just the way he likes … Zoya's eyes fell to hide her shame.

Asad's eyes hungrily sought her face. She did not meet his gaze, but he noticed shadows
under her eyes and felt a pang.

Everyone
sat down except for Zoya who lingered at the counter behind Asad, cutting fruit.

Good
mornings were exchanged.

Tanu
excitedly proclaimed, “Khala, there is some good news to share!"

Asad swallowed hard, and looked crushed.

“Jammy aap sab se kuch kehna chahte hain. Hai na Jammy?”

Asad
was annoyed at Tanu. They had not discussed telling everyone. He had hoped that
they could discretely wait and find out if she was pregnant first, before deciding
and announcing anything. He sensed Zoya behind him as he prepared to crush her.

He looked up at Dilshad and stuttered, “woh, Ammi, actually ...”

Tanu's lips thinned in annoyance.

She hadn't worked this hard to have him hem and haw about this. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to get the words out, and also that his woebegone expression
would contradict his words even if he was able to slur them out somehow.

“Jammy
and I have decided to get married,” she declared with contemptuous glee.

There was a muffled gasp and clatter behind him that only he heard.

The evidence of
the end of Zoya’s world was quickly covered up as cheers of joy erupted from his mother and sister who rushed to hug and embrace the two. An emotional Dilshad blessed them and bustled about to ward off evil spirits.

As Najma and Dilshad continued to excitedly ask Asad how and when, a simpering Tanu
walked up to Zoya, “Zoya. you're so quiet. Aren't you happy for us?”

Zoya wiped her hands on the apron and said in a soft, strangled voice, “of course, I
am just shocked. Congratulations.”

She
hugged Tanu and blinked several times. As she parted from her, she said after clearing her throat:

“I
hope you both will be very happy. Allah aap dono ko mere hisse ki bhi khushiyan
de de.”

Asad’s
eyes stung as he looked away.

Zoya
removed her apron and told Dilshad that she was expecting an important call from Jeeju about her visa and that they should carry on without her. She fled to
her room, raced to the bathroom, and fell down to the floor sobbing.

She
stuffed her fist into her mouth to silence herself, biting down hard on her
knuckles.

After
breakfast, Dilshad was cleaning up and looked closely at the apron; she saw some
bloodstains.

“Arre,
where did this blood come from? Oh, Zoya must have cut herself when she was
cutting the fruit. Allah! This girl is so clumsy!”

Asad
heard this and went to his room, closed the door and leaned against it. Tears of fury and self-loathing now streamed down his face. Images of Zoya’s tortured face swam before his
eyes. He took out his phone and re-read her text. He remembered how she had
looked when she said those things to him. He had come so close to telling her
about his own feelings.

And now a door had slammed in his face forever.

Seeing her dash to her room made him want to run after
her to tell her that none of this was real and that he loved her and only her.

Now you admit that you love her?

Fool!

He balled his fist, close to smashing it through the glass.

He needed to go a few rounds at his punching bag ...

After
a long cry, Zoya tried to compose herself. Looking in the mirror, she gave herself a pep talk.

Stop
this crying. You can’t let anyone see you like this. What if Phuphi found out? Do you want to dim her happiness? Then just man the hell up Zoya Farooqui! Allah miyan, please give me the strength
to bear this. And please don’t make me mess this up any more.

She reeled as a new thought squeezed her heart. What if Mr. Khan had already proposed to Tanu before she had gone in like a blundering baby rhino and blurted her heart out? No wonder he didn't say a word! Oh god, Allah miyan, what have I done? What was I thinking?

You weren't thinking you stupid idiot! she chided herself for the fiftieth time. How could you even think that he'd like … love … someone like you? Zoya Farooqui, have you forgotten who you are, what you are? A nameless, fatherless nobody! A scarred, defective misfit!

And that set her crying again.

Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to rationalize her miserable way out of a mess she had created. Tanu will be right for him.
She is exactly what he wants in a life partner, someone who is good around the
house, so capable, someone who has the values and cultural upbringing that he
holds important. They've known each other for years and been best friends. This is the right thing. She will be good for him and take good care of Phuphi. Be a big sister to Najma. Phuphi also loves her like a daughter.

And me …? You would have never been good for him. "Aap sirf ek mehman hain …"

She
remembered what she'd said to him yesterday, and burst into tears all over again, all resolve forgotten.

I
should go back.

Leave.

Now.

Zoya splashed more water on her face and carefully applied make-up to cover up the
evidence of her crying. She squared her shoulders to walk out into the living
room.

Mr.
Khan had left for work and Phuphi, Najma and Tanu were in there making plans.

“Oh,
come Zoya, help us. There is so much to be done. They want to get married as
soon as possible,” Dilshad gushed.

Zoya,
came up and said bravely, and much too brightly, “Sure Phuphi! Aap sirf shaadi ki taiyari par dhyaan
dijiye, I'll help in any way I can."

Dilshad happily embraced her and said, “you are so sweet.”

The three of them talked excitedly about the colors of dresses, flowers, menu,
decorations, functions, themes, etc.

Suddenly Zoya felt left out, excluded from a charmed circle that she'd never be a part of. She saw Tanu looking at her and plastered a smile on her face.

“Zoya,
what do you think would be the best color on me,” asked Tanu sidling up to her.

“Umm," she pressed her fingers to her lips to keep them from quivering.

Once at the dargah, she sank to her
knees and wept silently. Please Allah miyan! Give me the strength and don't let
me make a bigger nuisance of myself.

This had become a litany.

Please give me the strength to
accept your will and not ask for something I don't deserve.

I should have left then.

I've made such a stupid mess of
things. I should have never come to India. Aapi was right.

Ayaan was there too. He had
promised Ammi to drop off donated supplies. Seeing Zoya, he remembered the
first time he had seen her. Exactly like this, crying softly. What was bothering
her? He had to find out. Somehow he had never found out why she was crying that
first time. Having got to know her over these past few days, he was
surprised at her tears. She didn't seem the type to cry. She seemed
so bindas and chilled out. Must be something terrible.

He waited for her to leave, and
just like the last time, he chased after her.

“Zoya, what happened? Why are you
so sad? Is everything OK?”

Zoya tried to smile and deny it.

He persisted, “tell me if you think
of me as a good friend.”

She told him that she was missing
her father.

“Is he in America?”

“No, he passed away a long time
ago,” she murmured with lowered lashes and walked away with her head bowed.

At work, Asad couldn’t concentrate.

He was constantly haunted by Zoya’s
memories, her expressions, that silly shayari … But most of all, her
face this morning when she found out about his damned engagement. Her
nonsensical sher from not too long ago, arrested his thoughts:

"Jahanpanah six packs, kab
kahenge mujhe koi mil gaya,

Jahanpanah six packs, kab kahenge
mujhe koi mil gaya

Woh pyaar mein girenge, aur
bolenge, Oh no! Mera ghutna chhil gaya!"

She had been so
determined then to suss out Ammi's assailant, and to prove him dead wrong
about his father. She hadn't given a thought to putting her life on the line
for his Ammi. So fiercely loyal to Ammi's faith in Mr. Rashid Ahmed
Khan's innocence! Even he had not supported Ammi then. And Zoya had stood
up to him and his rigid principles.

No one had even stood up to
him like that ever before. And that too for his family. Fighting with him about
Najma first, then Ammi.

He squeezed his eyes in bitter
remorse.

The terrible words he'd said to her
about her character, her parents, her upbringing!

He slammed his fist on his desk.

She must have cried in her room
this morning hiding her pain from everyone. Before leaving for work he had
glanced longingly at the closed door of her room and wanted to walk in and
gather her in his arms, and kiss her tears and self-doubts away.

He paced in angry frustration and pain.

I wish I had told you much sooner
how I feel about you. You were right. I can’t express myself and am emotionally
challenged.

I wish I could turn back time.

Ayaan called and told him that he'd
just seen Zoya at the dargah, and that she was really upset.

"Bhaijaan, she was crying like
the last time."

Asad remembered her crying the
first time he saw her at the dargah last year and covered his face in anguish.

“I didn’t know that her father had
died. She said that she was missing him and that’s why she was crying.”

Asad told him of Zoya’s reason for
coming to India in search of her estranged father and how they had only
recently found out about her dad’s passing.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know,” said
Ayaan. “How can she look so happy and be so chirpy, and yet carry around so
much grief inside her.”

Asad kept quiet and closed his
eyes. You don't know the half of it.

And this time she was crying
because of me.

Back at home, when Zoya returned,
Najma excitedly told her that they had decided to take the previously-discussed
road trip to Ajmer Sharif.

Asad looked up at Tanu, slightly
annoyed. He seemed to detect a cruel streak in her lately.

Dilshad interjected, “nahin, nahin, that can't be. Road trip ka idea to Zoya ka hi tha. She's the one who suggested
it in the first place!”

Zoya gripped her fork and knife
tightly. She smiled gamely and said that she would love to go and had always wanted to
go because she has heard so much about Ajmer Sharif’s spiritual power and
healing. She had heard about the place from Jeeju and Aapi who had visited a
long time ago.

"Ajmer Sharif ka bulawa aaya hai," Dilshad said to her and she smiled, nodding her head.

She bravely joined in the banter
asking Najma what clothes she would be taking and what shopping they would do
there, and Najma took over the conversation. When the conversation faltered,
she asked how long it would take by road, and again everyone jumped in to answer
her question and make more plans. How long would they be there for?

Where would they stay?

What would the weather be like?

Asad stole a look at her. Only he
could see that she was covering up her lack of real participation by posing
neutral questions.

He saw that she was barely eating
and that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He also saw her tightly
gripped and bandaged hands and how she was barely holding on to her
self-control.

He pushed his plate away unable to swallow
a single morsel.

Later, Asad turned to Dilshad and
said, “Ammi please make sure that you pack your medicines. In fact we
should talk to the doctor about what precautions to take during the trip.” She had just barely recovered from the shooting.

“Don't worry about it. Zoya's
organized all my medicines and I already talked to the doctor today. I'll be
fine.”

As everyone was leaving to turn in
for the night, Zoya cleared her throat and said soflty, “Mr. Khan?”

He turned around quickly at the
sound of her voice to look at her. She was twisting her hands again.

Without meeting his gaze she said,
"umm … please remember to take your anti-allergy injection.”

Dilshad burst out, “yes, Zoya is
absolutely right! You are really careless about your health, Asad. If Zoya
hadn't found the injection that day in your room, I don't know what we would
have done.”

She shuddered with remembered
horror. Any longer, and he would have gone into complete anaphylactic shock.
Thank god for Zoya!

Asad nodded and walked away.

In his room Asad walked toward his
closet and opened the drawer to pull out the epi-pen so he wouldn't forget.
He noticed her earring and the coin that Zoya had childishly insisted on using
to decide whether she would stay back in India.

He also recalled how, for the first
time yesterday, his heart had intuitively made the decision to lie about the
result so that she wouldn’t leave for New York.

He had never lied before. It had felt so right.

He had pretended to be angry at her
bizarre pranks, but now Asad knew how happy he was then.

When he had seen her hug Ammi, and
Ammi give her a fond kiss, he knew that he had wanted that moment to last
forever and that he had found the girl who would love Ammi even more than him.

He bent to caress the earring, but
stopped.

Had it only been twenty four hours
since she'd told him how she felt? In just one day he had turned his and her
world topsy–turvy. How did they go from him struggling to stop her from leaving
India, to losing her forever? He sat on the bed and held his leaden head in his
hands while images of Zoya’s face danced in his head, taunting and plaguing him
for his silence and cowardice. Again.

Mujhe maaf kar dena Zoya.

This had become his own tortured
litany that he whipped himself with every waking moment.

Asad
told Dilshad that he'd invited Ayaan to join them. Ayaan
stepped out from behind the SUV and grinned at them while ruffling his messy
hair. Dilshad
smiled and patted his back. She loved how the brothers were so close to each
other despite the rancor between the two families.

They
set off with the men in front and the women in the back. Zoya and Najma were in
the third row.

Soon
they left the city behind and were on the highway.

Fields and tiny towns
whizzed by. Any other time, and she would have been glued to window exclaiming and squealing at the zipping merry sights. But not now. Now those sights seemed blurred and fuzzy through the veil of unshed tears.

Zoya
plugged in her earphones to watch the video of Mr. Khan asking her to stay
back, “mat jao, Zoya.”

Asad,
meanwhile, had been trying to steal glances at her in the rear view mirror, but
was unable to get a clear view even after adjusting it several times. He could
just barely see the top of her bowed head.

He sighed in frustration and remorse.

Soon
a bored Najma piped up, “let’s play antakshari. It’ll be fun.”

Almost
everyone groaned, but Ayaan liked the idea and soon had convinced everyone to
join in.

Najma
and Ayaan high-fived.

“Tanu
aap, Asad aur Ayaan Bhaijaan ki team mein hongi, and me, Zoya and Ammi will be in the other team.”

They
sang some of the most common songs that one remembers by default when this game first
starts. Zoya and Asad joined in only when prodded by others.

Najma’s
team got “Ha” and she started singing “Hum tum, ek kamre main band hon.”

All, except Asad, joined in.

He
looked away and remembered that time they were handcuffed in Mangalpur. Finally working together as a team they had managed to escape from their captors and find shelter at the ridiculously-named, Apna Dhaba. But they were still handcuffed to each other.

At night
on the stairs he had forgetfully moved too quickly to his right, and she been
dragged helplessly across his knees, her face mere inches from his. It could have
been just the two of them in the whole wide world. They had been so close.
One inch more, and he could have feathered her reddening cheek with his lips.

And
then later at night, in the room they had been forced to share, he must have yanked his hand in his sleep. And she had fallen on top of
him tumbling into his arms jolting him awake. Her hair had spilled over their faces creating
a curtained off private world in which only the two of them breathed while
gazing into each other’s startled and heated eyes.

He could feel her racing
heart and—-

Both
those times, and so many other times too, there was always such a crackle of
awareness between them. His eyes and hands had lingered longer than they should
have. How easy it would have been to turn her over that night and tuck her soft
body under his, bury his face in her neck and—-

Even
then he had to have known that his mind and body had never reacted this way to
any other woman. When he had feared her lost forever in that forest of despair, his heart had clearly
told him what it wanted as he prayed for her life.

Why hadn’t he listened to
his heart then?

Coward!

When
Najma’s song ended at “Ya,” Ayaan started to sing, “ye raat bheegi bheegi,”
while lightly strumming his guitar.

And
this time Zoya remembered the night at the farmhouse and their sensuous dance
while it rained. That night had been so magical. She'd never felt so happy,
so delirious, and so in love.

For
the first time, Mr. Khan had allowed himself to open up before her and been
playful and flirtatious. Allah miyan, he had actually laughed and teased her! Had
they really danced together? She could still feel his caress on her chin and
how her breath had hitched when he had brushed his knuckles against her lips.
She had completely surrendered her heart that night when he had held her hands in
his against his chest. The drizzle had added a veil of heated privacy as their bodies had swayed against one another.

His reluctant confession that night … those words had melted her heart.

And
then the next day, everything had changed.

She
squeezed her eyes shut and a tear escaped. She quickly dashed it away and
joined in the song.

Much
later, Ayaan was driving and Hindi songs continued to play on the radio. They heard some caller
request the song “bol na halke, halke” from the film “Jhoom Barabar Jhoom.”

Najma
squealed, “ooh, I love this song. It is so romantic, isn’t it Zoya? It's one of my favorite Rahat Fateh Ali Khan song! I know it’s
your favorite song too.”

Zoya
said yes softly, ducking her head and letting her hair cover her flaming face.

This
time Asad, pretending to be asleep, relived their heady dance that night. It was still
a blurry memory but he could vividly recall the sensation of holding her warm
and soft body in his arms and swaying to some unheard music. This was the song he thought he'd heard. It couldn't have been real. But it felt so real.

It had steamed that night.

It was the first
time he had seen her in a saree and she looked stunning with her hair still
damp and that dimple still flashing.

He remembered her spinning in langurous
circles around him and how he had tried to catch her floating palla but she’d gleefully escaped his grasp, laughing up at him and mocking him for not being quick
enough. When she had turned her back to him his breath had caught at the sight
of her bare back with two flimsy strings holding her blouse together. One flick
of his wrist to tug at them, and he could have rained a thousand open-mouthed kisses,
tasting the rain on her exposed skin. What would her skin feel like against his?
What if he was bolder that night and scooped her into his arms, carried her
inside and made love to her all night?

He shook his head to get a grip on his flyaway thoughts. Hollow desire and searing regret rippled through him.

They
made many stops along the way.

Zoya mostly stayed quiet, and close to Dilshad and Najma. Najma's excitement and constant chatter helped cover her misery.

Sometimes.

But she would pretend to be immersed in her iPad or stuff her ears with her headphones when Najma mentioned mehendi functions, shaadi songs, weddings, waleemas and honeymoons. She didn't want to pretend that she had a headache. Phuphi and Tamatar would fuss and then she'd die of embarrassment because Mr. Khan would know why she was faking.

"Zoya, we have to make a list of songs! It'll be such fun!"

When her voice became steadier, Zoya would get Najma diverted by talking about Ranbir Kapoor, his upcoming film and how they'd watch it when they returned home.

"And we still have to watch Aashiqui 2," Najma gushed.

Ayaan rolled his eyes, "chick flick," he muttered. His sisters and Humaira too would go on and on about that one.

"The songs are so nice, na? Here," she grabbed Zoya's iPad. "Let's play some of them."

"No, let's listen to some peppy songs. How 'bout Badtameez dil or Balam pichkari?" she asked Najma who eagerly agreed.

Ayaan noticed something being off and grilled Asad about it, “what’s going on with Mona
darling? Why is she so quiet? Do you think she’s still thinking about her
father?”

Asad
turned his face away and shrugged.

"C'mon Bhaijaan, I know that you don't like her, and think that she's a goofball, like me, heh heh, but she's not all that bad. Remember how she kidnapped me from the hospital so we could meet?"

Asad swore under his breath and kicked a stone away savagely. How had he forgotten that? Zoya had seen how upset he was about being forbidden to visit Ayaan at the hospital and she'd promised him a surprise …

"Aaj ke baad tum Ayaan se kabhi nahi miloge!" Ammi had said. She had known he'd be devastated but also that he wouldn't disobey her.

They
were soon back on the road. This time Dilshad sat in the passenger seat, while
Ayaan slept in the third row and Zoya was at the window. Najma was fast asleep
with her head resting on Zoya’s shoulder. Tanu too slept.

Asad
could now see her face clearly in the rear view mirror as he drove. He stole
glances at her as she stared listlessly out of the window.

Zoya was exhausted. She couldn't bear the plugs in her ears any more. Her hands hurt. And that permanent lump in her throat just wouldn't budge let alone slide down.

The
song, “Ajeeb dastaan hai yeh” came on, and Dilshad exclaimed, “Oh I love this
song.”

She increased the volume and started softly humming along with it.

“Kisi
ka pyar le ke tum, naya jahan basaoge,

Yeh
shaam jab bhi ayegi, tum humko yaad a-ogey.”

Asad
sharply looked up into the mirror and saw tears streaming down Zoya’s face as
she hastily wiped them. He swerved to avoid a car as he rushed to quickly switch the radio station.

Dilshad asked crossly, “why did you do
that, I was listening to it?”

“It
was boring. I want to listen to the news.”

Zoya
made a strangled sound and Dilshad turned around and asked with concern, “are
you OK, do want us to stop, Zoya?”

With
her face averted Zoya nodded a yes. As soon as Asad pulled over, she rushed
out and ran a little distance behind the car. She fell to her knees on the side
of the road and sobbed uncontrollably.

Dilshad exclaimed, “oh the poor thing is carsick, let me take some water for her.”

Asad stopped her with a hand on her arm, “Ammi, aap baithiye, I’ll do it.”

He
walked up slowly after her. She felt someone coming and started to choke back
her sobs.

Asad
placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her the bottle of water. She took
it from his hands, and turned away to splash cold water on her face. She took a sip hoping to wash the taste of ashes from her mouth.

He
offered her his handkerchief and she shook her head no.

“Zoya,
please” He whispered hoarsely.

He wanted to hold her hand and beg her
forgiveness on his knees. If only he could pull her into his arms, kiss her
tears away, and promise to keep her smiling all his life. He thought again of
her tears at the Dargah when he had first seen her. This time he was
responsible for her tears and lost smile. His heart squeezed and he
clenched his fists helplessly.

That’s all he could do these days besides
lashing out at himself silently for being the biggest fool in the world who had
blindly gambled his life away. He saw her wipe her face hard with her hands, push her shoulders back and stalk proudly toward
the car, a queen ready for the guillotine.

He looked forlornly after her.

In
the car, Zoya shut her eyes and couldn’t help but play back his words to her
right now. He had sounded just as tortured as he did in that video. She knew he felt guilty and that splintered her soul even more. She didn't want him to feel guilty because of her. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her.

Why,
Allah miyan are you making this so hard? Why can’t I accept that he’s not mine,
never was. His words and eyes hold me back but his actions scream that he
doesn’t see me as someone worthy of being a part of his family.

The
next morning they went to pay their respects and offer prayers at the Dargah at Ajmer Sharif.
Everyone was modestly dressed with their heads covered as they moved toward the
inner sanctum.

There
were crowds of pilgrims from all over the world, milling about, praying, chatting, chanting, and tying
sacred threads by the millions.

Vendors
sold sacred chadors, flowers, sweets, and other offerings, holy men called blessings and duas as they brushed passing heads with peaco*ck feather clusters.

Families and loners bustled. There were sick and elderly on crutches and in wheelchairs. Kids darted about and bumped heads, young married couples with hopeful faces murmured prayers …

Incense smoked and perfumed the air; hope and despair collided and rubbed shoulders.

The
men and women separated to offer their prayers and seek blessings.

Najma,
Dilshad and Tanu later moved on to tie their threads on the elaborate lattices groaning under millions of wishes and hopes.

Asad,
still hyper aware of Zoya and her torment, noticed from a distance that she was just holding
her thread and looking at it in a daze, but not tying it.

A
little boy slammed into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She bent and
smiled at him. He was being pushed around by his older siblings and complained
that he wanted to tie a thread too. He had dropped his, and no one was willing to give him another one. Zoya gave him her thread and he tried to
unsuccessfully tie it, but he was being bumped around by the crush of bodies. His tiny fingers were uncoordinated.

Laughing
now, she helped him by picking him up in her arms so that he could get closer and have better access.
But he still fumbled and she tried to help him, but couldn’t.

Asad's knees went weak at this sight of a smiling Zoya with her head covered, holding
a squirming child. He stepped up and guided the boy’s hands to help him tie the
thread.

Once
done, Zoya put him down and he happily scampered away.

Zoya
was about to walk away when he offered her his thread. Not meeting his gaze she
shook her head. "No thank you, it's OK, ” she said softly, and walked away to wait for everyone
to be done.

Slowly
he walked to the lattice and tied the rejected thread. Through the intricate mesh, he gazed at her receding back
and bowed head; the distance yawned between them.

After
dinner, back at the hotel, everyone lounged in the plush suite, discussing the
trip to the holy site as well as upcoming wedding plans. Zoya busied herself by scrolling her cramped fingers across her iPad. She had to hold it together or she'd lose it and ruin everything. She tried concentrating on her breathing to distract herself. In … out … in … out ...

But Tanu's hawk eyes weren't fooled. She deliberately began to bait Zoya. Sharp that she was, she had noticed something deeply unresolved between Asad and Zoya. The usually giggly and annoying Ms. New York wasn't in her element and Jammy wasn't scowling or being critical of her. How was it that no one else had seen both of them being miserable.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "my method was wrong, I know that. May be I am irresponsible and don't think about consequences. I seem to act first and think things through later … I'll always regret that I hurt Aapi terribly, but not that I ran away. He was not a good man.”

Dilshad and Najma nodded in agreement. They knew about what had happened and how they had nearly lost Zoya.

Her self-condemnation slayed him. No, you aren't irresponsible, Asad wanted to yell. You did the right thing! I was irresponsible for trusting Akram and forcing you to apologize. Asad recalled with growing fury how he had reached Akram’s house just in the nick of time to
prevent the forced marriage. He remembered how his heart had stopped at the sight of blood on the
side of her mouth.

Asad felt the rage and shame rise in him once again.

How dare that
man drug her, beat her, and force her to get married to him?

Thank god he'd
gotten there in time, or god knows what would have happened. He would have never
been able to forgive himself. His fists clenched and he very nearly smashed a vase through the window.

But seeing Zoya's bent head, her hair screening her face once again made his anger evaporate.

Shame and dull loss replaced it.

He hadn't yet apologized to her for that incident. Despite her reminding him that he owed her an apology. How could he? He didn't know how to. Asad still shuddered imagining how Akram and his cousins had kidnapped her, drugged her, and beat her up. What if they had …?

And he had bullied her into going, self-righteously demanding that she do the right thing. Is that what she was thinking too?

She was. But not the way he feared.

"Qubool nahin hai," he'd said for her. He hated her, and yet he'd come to her rescue. Even later in Mangalpur … He had risked his life for her so many times. What if something had happened to him? What about Phuphi and Najma? Yes. She was irresponsible.

For her, it was yet another reminder of how he must think the absolute worst of her. She had been mad at him for that Akram incident then. But now, she wished she could just curl up and die.

She cleared her throat dislodging the painful lump that had formed, and not succeeding completely.

"Umm … Mr. Khan?"

He whipped his head around eagerly to look at her.

I'm so sorry for being a total jerk. Please forgive me, he wanted to say.

"I never thanked you for saving me that day. Thank you."

He hated himself even more.

But he couldn't pull his eyes away from her face. Her angry words that he always judged her character by her wardrobe, slashed him. She was right. He had let corrosive prejudice blindside him. And the irony was that when he'd finally realized his folly, he'd also blown his chance of ever being with her. He lowered his gaze. Meanwhile everyone else joined in saying
that yes, Zoya was right about the importance of love and dignity in a marriage.

Asad
looked up sharply at him and sensed that there was something bothering Ayaan. He had never seen his brother this serious, or as contemplative before.

Later,
when both brothers were in their room, he asked Ayaan, “what is going on, why
are you so tense about something?”

Ayaan
tried to brush it off, but Asad persisted, “I know you very well and know that
something is wrong even before you know it. I can tell that something is eating
you up.”

Ayaan
chuckled ruefully, “I could say the same for you. For a man who is engaged to
be married, you don’t look so happy.”

Asad
ducked his head and said sternly, “we aren’t talking about me. Ayaan, tell me,
what's bothering you? You've never hidden anything from me. It's got to be something big.”

Ayaan
sighed and then reluctantly told him about being pressured to get married to his uncle’s
daughter.

Asad
urged him to tell him everything.

Ayaan recounted the conspiracy to trap him
and Humaira in his bed when his brother was away in Mangalpur. And then how, for
a price, he had said yes to this engagement with a girl who loved him, but whom
he only care for as a good friend.

Asad
was able to connect the dots.

“That is where you got the money to pay off that corrupt police officer?”

Ayaan
said nothing.

Asad
started to pace the floor.

“This
is all my fault. If I had allowed Ammi to pay off Hassena bi that day, then
this wouldn’t have happened.”

He
knelt in front of Ayaan, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I wish I could have done
things differently and spared you this pain.”

Ayaan
shook his head saying, “it’s not your fault, Bhaijaan. But now that I've given my word I will follow through even if it kills me.”

Long
into the night, as Ayaan slept, Asad tossed and turned.

There are so many things he would have done differently today.

Why had he been so rigid and so smugly blind?

He glanced at Ayaan. Both of us are silently chafing against being forced into loveless marriages. Yet Zoya fought against being forced into a marriage against her
will. How difficult it must have been as a girl in a new country to make that
choice that neither of us are able to make?

He got up to pace angrily in the limited space in the room.

Why did this have to happen?

Why didn't I …?

He stopped in front of the wide plate glass window. Knuckles gripping the window-frame tightly, he stared sightlessly into the black night for a long time.

Meanwhile,
Zoya was in the bathroom of the room next door that she shared with Tanu. She
looked at herself in the mirror and upbraided her reflection, “just snap out of it and get over this. People are starting to notice your being too
quiet. Don't let Phuphi find out about your stupid crush! Accept what you can’t change, and don’t let anyone find out about
this. Stop this moping and get over yourself already. C'mon, Zoya, you're a strong girl! You can do this. You have to do this. You must!”

Next
day in the car, Asad noticed Zoya smiling and talking more, and
making an aggressive effort to participate in the activities and chatter. He heard her
babbling non-stop about inane things and with a pang knew that this too was a façade. She didn't want anyone to notice her heartache or ruin the trip.

His
heart wrenched as he thought of the thousands of times he had yelled at her
calling her inconsiderate and selfish.

There was just no way he could make up for
the terrible things he had said and done to her. He was still awed at how she
never held a grudge and forgave so easily. He would never forgive himself as
easily. Once after a bitter fight, she'd actually smiled at him as he continued to scowl at her. "Main zyada der tak kissi se naaraz nahin reh sakti. It's not in my nature. Jaiye, aapko maaf kiya!" Every day he learned a new facet of her, and felt chastened for judging
her and misreading her. Just because she wore jeans and came from the US, he had
stereotyped and humiliated her. She was right about him being judgmental.

He deserved to suffer for his behavior, but she didn’t deserve
this.

Everyone
soon got tired of Zoya’s incessant yapping and Dilshad crossly told her to go
sit up front with Asad so that she could keep him awake while he drove. Zoya
froze, but nodded her head in silence, and settled in the passenger seat armed with her
iPad.

She
swallowed several times and fiddled with the radio stations.

Finally,
taking a deep breath, she said to him with bent gaze. “OK, Mr. Khan what should
we talk about or do to pass the time? You know what, aapne 'Dil Chahta Hai' dekhi hai? No? Then main apko apni favorite movie ki story sunati hoon.”

He
had seen that film, and liked it too. But he let her tell the story and just
listened to the texture and tenor of her voice. She got more and more animated
as the story developed, and even decided to play the songs from the film.

Najma
and Ayaan joined in gleefully.

Tanu
rolled her eyes.

But
Zoya’s voice started to falter as she got closer to the romantic scenes between
Akash and Shalini. Shalini's attempts to get him to accept that love was real and worth reaching out for made her squirm in embarrassment now.

Thankfully
Najma and Ayaan had really gotten into this as well and started to narrate that
part while speaking over each other.

Najma
said, “C’mon Zoya, it’s time to play ‘jaane kyun’ at this point.”

While Zoya
fiddled with the iPad to find and play the song, she ducked her head to hide her
blush.

Asad
too remembered the time she had walked in on him in the bathtub while he
(badly) whistled “jaane kyun.”

He swore softly.

Zoya heard him and shriveled up
inside.

Thankfully
the song ended and Ayaan started to act out the cult proposal scene. He recited
Akash’s romantic words to Shalini, loud and clear with the exact expressions.
Zoya looked away and Asad looked straight ahead unblinkingly. Zoya thought
about that scene in the film and imagined Mr. Khan on bended knee. She shook
herself and pasted a smile on and clapped with the others when Ayaan finished
with a flourish.

After
the story was done, she said, “OK, how about a cricket quiz now?”

Najma
screwed up her face in distaste, but knew that her Bhaijaan would love that. She
settled back quietly.

Zoya
tapped on her iPad and after a few minutes began asking trivia questions which
he tried to answer distractedly. Ayaan kept blurting out wrong answers from the
back, and both she and Asad kept correcting him. Neither could forget the time when she'd challenged him to a trivia match on cricket and won. While he had acted annoyed then, he had been impressed with her knowledge and passion for the game. Both remembered his hateful words after she and Najma returned from the match he'd forbidden them to go to; she cringed, mortified, Asad kicked himself for his repeated assault on her character.

Tanu
did not look happy at all, but congratulated herself, “no matter what you do
Zoya, Jammy is mine now.”

After
they ran out of cricket questions, Zoya started to read news headlines from her
iPad but that got boring real fast. Then she hopped to Bollywood news and Najma
sat up and chimed in about celebrity gossip.

As
her energy started to flag, Asad reached out and handed her his water bottle.
She gulped down the water thirstily and seeing her head thrown back, throat
exposed, he again remembered their return from Mangalpur after their harrowing
escape. She had looked so vulnerable, so beaten. Even then he wanted to hold her, but he had resisted, choosing only to wipe her face and tuck her hair behind her ear.

He
told her softly, “why don’t you rest now and may be take a nap. I’ll be fine,
you don’t need to feel obligated to entertain me.”

She
looked into his face as he looked straight ahead and quickly lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry, I’m being annoying.” There was a barely discernible tremor in her voice that only he caught.

“No,
please don’t think that.” He tried to reassure her.

From
the back Ayaan quipped, “Zoya we haven’t heard any of your shayari for so long."

Her eyes stung in mortification.

In painstaking clarity, every playful sher of hers against Mr. Khan played on a sick loop in her head.

"Ruhani sukoon aur dil mein chaiyn hona chaheye,

Ruhani sukoon aur dil mein chaiyn hona chaheye,

Aapka naam Asad nahi, chairman hona chaheye."

Humsafar na baniye, humein akele ki aadat hai

Zubaan ko mishri na banayiye, humein karele ki aadat hai.

"C'mon Mona Darling, how about some bad shayari?” Ayaan clowned and urged.

Any
other time, Zoya would have jumped down his throat and mocked his own shaayari as
lame. But today she just smiled tragically saying she could only do so
spontaneously and not on demand.

“Nothing is coming to me right now. I'm sorry. Besides, Raabert you can't force genius. It just happens," she tried to assert haughtily. Only Asad saw her hands gripping each other tightly.

“Accha,
main ek line bolunga, then you complete it.”

He
recited a line and Zoya, for the first time fumbled, at a complete loss for words.

Asad tried to cover up her silence and visible discomfort by saying,
“stop this silliness. I don’t want to hear any bad shayari.”

Ducking her head, Zoya
turned to Tanu and offered, “I am beginning to feel sleepy, may be you can come
up here and keep Mr. Khan company.”

Tanu
agreed eagerly and after a brief stop, they both switched places. Tanu tried to start
a conversation by referring to past experiences from their childhood, but Asad
was distractedly looking at Zoya in the rear view mirror. Gratefully he noticed
that she had put on her ear plugs and was leaning back with her eyes closed. He saw her lips quiver. Her hand came up to cover the telltale sign of her torment. But not before he'd seen her throat move as she swallowed several times. His hands clenched impotently on the steering wheel yet again.

Reluctantly, he
returned his attention to the road while listening to Tanu and answering in
monosyllables.

Najma
was excitedly talking about jewelry shopping with her mother as they discussed
the wedding functions.

“Ammi, you have to decide on the date of the sagaai
soon.”

Tanu
preened.

Asad
looked up sharply at Zoya in the rear view mirror. Thankfully she had her earphones
on and probably didn’t hear this discussion.

“Oh
and once we are done with shopping, can we please go to Chokhidaani? My friend
went and said that it’s beautiful. Please Bhaijaan,” Najma pouted prettily.

They
soon reached the famed city. After checking in and freshening up at the hotel,
they went to a reputable jewelry shop recommended by Dilshad’s friend. The
women were soon engrossed in designs, and oohed and aahed at the diamond
jewelry.

Asad
and Ayaan rolled their eyes and sat by themselves on a settee.

“This is so
boring,” said Ayaan.

“Just
wait,” said Asad, “when you go back home, they’ll drag you around like this
too.”

Ayaan
shuddered.

“Chaliye na, Bhaijaan, we’ll go sit in the car, crank up the AC and
jam on my guitar.”

Asad
almost refused but liked the idea and decided to give in. He glanced at Zoya
and noticed that she was not really interested in the jewelry either. She was
tapping away on her iPad, headphones stuffed in her ears, and only looking up when Najma dragged her
attention to admire some piece of jewelry. How had he never noticed her simplicity and lack of adornment? He hadn't seen her shop for clothes or jewelry and trinkets with the same enthusiasm as Najma. Even on the trip so far, she'd mostly bought souvenirs and gifts. He shook his head. Just more proof of his blindness to her true nature and what he had truly lost in the process.

He
walked up to Dilshad to tell her that they were going to the car.

“No,”
she insisted, “you have to stay, so that we can pick out the engagement rings.”

He clenched his fist and mentally slapped his head. Looking over at Ayaan, he spread his hands
helplessly, and morosely sat down by Dilshad.

Knuckledragging
and with slumped shoulders, Ayaan walked over too, and sat by Zoya peering over
her shoulder to see what she was up to.

She
slapped the cover shut and glared at him.

Thank you Raabert!

She couldn't bear to hear any more talk about engagement rings. She had blocked out the sound. But wasn't able to do the same with the sight of boxes of rings spread out before Phuphi and Tanveer. From the corner of her eye she had spotted Mr. Khan come and sit next to Phuphi and her heart had stopped.

Ayaan grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Secrets? I am going to find out what
you're hiding!”

“Impossible,”
she snorted her voice almost not quivering, “you’ll never be able to figure out my password.”

Asad
heard this exchange and was immediately reminded of the day he and Ammi had walked
into the house and saw a big mess in the kitchen. Ammi had been upset, and looking at the mess a muscle had ticked in his neck. He was furious for Ammi's sake. Trying to figure out the
cause of it, they had been surprised by Zoya popping up like a jack in the box
from behind the counter.

Her
chirpy announcement that she was baking a cake for Phuphi had brought a smile
to Ammi’s face on the day that she was most sad. Zoya had then walked over to
her propped-up iPad on the dining table, equally messy with dry flour all over
the surface, to find a recipe for chocolate sauce.

“Oh,
yeh toh sleep mode mein chala gaya. Wait.”

And
then the strangest thing had happened.

She
did a little jig, waved her arms about rhythmically, and sang, “la, la-la-la,
la.”

And they heard a similar sing-song response in a cartoon voice come from
the iPad.

Both
he and Ammi had looked at each other and then at Zoya quizzically.

And
in her inimitable style, she had c*ocked her head to one side and said, “mera
password hai” as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ammi
had smiled more and almost laughed, while he had mentally rolled his eyes and clutched
his forehead in annoyance.

Why did he think she was annoying then? Why couldn’t
he see that she had helped to bring joy to Ammi at her darkest moment of
despair?

She was right.

He had always been too judgmental.

And
now everything was over.

He
sighed heavily and Dilshad looked up at him. She had noticed that he had been
tense and distracted of late. She stiffened and glanced at Najma and Tanu
trying on different rings.

Her
thoughts raced.

What is going on? Why is Asad so moody and silent? He is not
as hyper about Najma’s safety or correcting her every two minutes about being
too chatty, he isn’t even getting annoyed with Zoya or trying to control her.
In fact Zoya is behaving strangely too.

She
looked more closely at her son who was frowning at Ayaan and Zoya who were bent
over her iPad, heads together. He didn’t seem happy or content with the
decision to marry. What had made him take this decision?

Najma
broke into her thoughts. “Ammi what about this one?”

Dilshad
no longer had her heart in it.

She
shook her head and abruptly said, “actually, I already had a ring made for
Asad’s sagaai a long time ago. We’ll use that one. Let’s go.”

Najma
reluctantly returned the ring to the salesperson.

They
left, to Ayaan and Asad’s relief, and Tanu’s dismay.

She
had hoped that khaala would buy the ring that Najma had shown her. It was the
latest design and she didn’t really trust that the ring she would have to wear
would be as stylish.

Ayaan
and Najma had decided that after shopping they would spend the evening at
Chokhidaani.

Dilshad
found it strange that Asad was allowing both of them a free rein, and not
objecting to any of their giddy plans and schemes.

She
said, “I am tired. Why don’t you drop me off at the hotel and then you all can
go.”

Zoya
and Najma wouldn’t have it. “No, you have to come with us.”

But
Dilshad held firm.

They
reached Chokhidaani after dropping Dilshad at the hotel, and Zoya was enchanted
by the place. The smells and sounds, the décor, the colorful costumes, and
camels and elephants were just like the India she had seen in travel brochures.
She ran ahead of everyone, whipped out her iPad and started taking pictures. At
the entrance they saw beautifully decorated earthen pots in front of a rustic
thatched hut and a charpoy. Both
Ayaan and Najma urged everyone to pose for a family photo. Zoya took a few
shots of all four of them.

Then
Ayaan said, “OK Mona darling, you come and I’ll take a few shots.”

She handed
him her iPad and went to sit by Najma.

Ayaan
finished taking the photographs and then holding her iPad aloft gloated, “yes,
now I can see what you were up to.”

Zoya
charged after him.

He
held the iPad aloft as she unsuccessfully hopped around him in circles trying
to grab it out of his hands. Ayaan, being taller could keep switching it back
and forth from one hand to the other driving her insane as she pouted, screamed,
threatened and grabbed at his arms.

Ayaan was lapping up this attention and
playfulness.

“Raabert,
I’ll kill you,” she panted, face red, as she wiggled and tried yet again to
retrieve the iPad.

“Arz
kiya hai...,” started Ayaan.

“Ayaan!”
he heard a stern voice, and looked at his older brother sheepishly.

“Give
it back,” commanded Asad crossly.

He
was not liking the sight of Zoya in such close proximity to his baby brother
who was deliberately baiting her by holding her precious iPad out of reach.

Ayaan
complied reluctantly.

Damn! Bhaijaan
always ruined his fun with girls. Zoya slapped his hand when he returned it.

Najma
found all this very amusing and asked Zoya, “when will you ever tell me the
story behind Raabert and Mona darling?”

Ayaan
leaped in and putting his arm around his little sister, began to animatedly
tell her about “Operation Laal Rumaal,” and how that failed dismally because
their Bhaijaan, Akdu Ahmed Khan, and he waggled his eyebrows at Zoya devilishly,
was always over-prepared.

Zoya just didn’t have the heart to hear this. Too many painful memories resurfaced. She
wandered over to look at a folk dance performance not too far away. She took
more pictures of women in colorful folk costumes dancing on broken glass and
the edges of blunt swords without drawing any blood!

Ayaan
continued, “and then we had to execute ‘Operation Pyaasi Aatma.’”

Najma
was helpless with laughter when he told her how he had worn a white sari and
wig and stood in the middle of the road with a burning candle to delay Bhaijaan
so that he couldn’t testify at court the next day. And for his pains, bhaijaan
had given him a resounding backhanded slap, which had hurt for days after.

He
massaged his cheek, stuck out his lower lip playfully, and made puppy dog eyes
at Asad who hit him upside the head and then ruffled his already unkempt hair.

Then Ayaan told Najma how he had locked them in the farmhouse that night.

She
raised her eyebrows in amazement.

She couldn’t get over how Zoya and Ayaan were
still alive after tricking Bhaijaan like this.

Bhaijaan
was obviously getting soft. He wasn’t even nagging her too much during this
trip. The engagement must agree with him, she thought.

Tanu, however, sniffed and felt left out of all the merriment. Her ears pricked at
the part when she heard of both of them spending the night together in an abandoned
farmhouse.

Asad’s
aloofness was grating on her and she resented how he kept looking at Zoya with
concern.

“This has to stop,” she murmured to herself. “High time Ms. New York
went back to where she came from.”

Everyone
enjoyed the camel and elephant rides, Tanu was the only one to decline. Zoya had been reluctant initially. It didn't seem right to treat animals this way. The camel looked stoic, but the elephant's sad eyes just tugged at her heart. After the ride, she had stroked its trunk and patted its cheek with the Mahaut's permission. But she had to smile when he told her its name: Anarkali.

So cute!

She cooed and murmured silly assurances in Anarkali's ginormous ears.

Asad watched from a distance, smitten and bereft. Tanu had complained of her feet hurting so he was giving her company as she rested on a nearby bench.

He dragged his eyes away form Zoya's slight figure dwarfed by the elephant.

He had to stop this. It wasn't right for him to pine away like a tragic Majnu. And at least Majnu had the guts to tell his love that he loved her.

What was done, was done.

He better get his act together and start to focus more on Tanu.

Ayaan
and Najma were having the most fun of all.

And by now, Zoya
too was getting into the spirit as she and Ayaan traded insults and shayari. Ayaan
hooked his arms with her and Najma and strutted around like a peac*ock. Zoya
gave him a side kick and fled giggling as he bellowed like a bull and charged
after her.

While
Asad was relieved to see Zoya’s spunk and smile return, he was not liking that
Ayaan was getting so close to her. He itched to be part of the charmed circle
but felt excluded.

He
wanted Zoya to be on his arm, not Ayaan’s.

They
had hot badaam milk at one of the stalls and Asad almost choked on his, as
he remembered that last time he’s had some. Zoya
almost rushed to his aid but clenched her fists instead.

Ayaan thumped his brother’s
back with glee winking at a laughing Najma.

Najma
dragged everyone to dinner after various stops at jewelry and souvenir stalls.

Dinner
was an elaborate affair. The men were honored with tikas and got to wear pagdis as they sat on the floor.
They were treated to a huge smorgasbord of Rajasthani traditional foods with
generous servings of desi ghee. Servers in traditional outfits ladled spicy
foods, condiments and lassi.

Zoya
was entranced.

Before eating she had to take several photographs of her food.
She even took a video of everyone enjoying their food and of the servers.

Najma
put her hand out to block her, “Zoya, stop! Don’t you dare take a picture of me
while I’m eating.”

Zoya
grinned and playfully pinched her cheek.

“I love this, Tamatar. I love India.
So gorgeous. I’m going to miss it when I leave.”

Najma’s
face fell.

“You can’t leave. You have to stay until the wedding at least.”

Tanu,
sitting next to Najma heard this exchange and rejoiced that Zoya would soon be
out of her hair.

Asad
heard Najma’s aggrieved voice and felt his heart twist.

Suddenly, he couldn’t
enjoy the meal. With his head bowed, he strained to hear what Zoya said, but he
couldn’t catch her reply.

His chest burned with unsaid confessions. Self-loathing gnawed at his gut. Every time he closed his eyes, Zoya's face appeared. There were smudges under her eyes. She didn't even make eye contact with him these days. Whenever she was forced to say something to him, she focused on his ear or collar. He unconsciously punched the back of the sofa.

“There’s
nothing to tell Ammi.”

"Really? And that's why you're behaving like a caged and wounded lion right now?"

She
sat back in the chair.

“Asad. Do not make me take those filmy kasams. I am not
going to let this go till you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Asad
sighed and knew he was beaten. But how could he tell her about what happened
that night. How sordid!

He
sat back down on the bed and looked away from her. Running his hands agitatedly
through his hair he tried to pacify her by telling her that she always wanted him to get
married. Since he'd known Tanu for most of his life, he had decided that
she would make a suitable bahu for the family.

Dilshad
shook her head. “This was true 10 days ago too. And you always brushed me off
when I brought up the topic of your nikaah. Why did you decide suddenly to get
married? Knowing you well, I know that you would have asked me first. Why
didn’t you? Why this rush? Something has changed. I know this in my heart.”

Haltingly
he told her how he had made the gravest mistake of his life and lost control one night. Now he was only
doing what he thought was right.

He hung his head in shame.

Dilshad
was aghast. She could not believe that her son was capable of such a thing. For
a morally upright and highly principled man who respected women, this would
have been impossible. Her Asad? The man who didn't even look at women wrong? Someone who hated his father for what he'd done to his mother so long ago …?

She
was too stunned to respond immediately.

Asad
looked at her shamefacedly.

“Do you hate me Ammi? Have I completely fallen in
your esteem?”

She rushed to sit next to him and held him in her arms.

“Never,”
she said. “I just can’t believe it, that’s all.”

He
held his head in his hands and wept for all that he had done, and not done. His pride and silent procrastination had cost him his love and happiness. He had turned his back on the best thing to have happened to him.

She
could not bear to see him like this. This could not be true. She wanted him to
marry, but not this way. She hugged him harder and pushed his hands away to
hold his face in her hands.

“I
refuse to believe this of you. You? A man who has defined his life by hating
his father’s actions, could not possibly have done anything like this, or hurt
anyone. You are always so restrained and self-controlled. Tumne aaj tak kissi ladki ko chhua tak nahin hai, buri nazar se bhi nahin dekha hai! It's impossible. There must be some misunderstanding.”

Asad shook his head regretfully.

“No. I don’t think so. And now I must make things right.”

That
night Dilshad could not sleep.

She kept replaying the past few months over and
over again in her head. Somehow she had thought that Asad had been showing
signs of liking Zoya. He seemed to smile more, even though those were mere half-smiles.
There seemed to be nothing between him and Tanu except for friendly concern.
They hardly seemed to have anything in common except for memories of their
childhood.

But
no one could miss the sparks between him and Zoya.

What happened?

Could this be the reason for Zoya's recent silence? She had thought, that Zoya was sad and quiet because of her Abbu.

As
sleep overcame her just before dawn, she had made up her mind.

She'd get to the bottom of this.

Next
morning at breakfast, Ayaan and Najma were elbowing each other and whispering among
themselves.

The
other four members of the party were too preoccupied to really pay any attention
to these two.

Ayaan
cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Badi Ammi, what if we went to
Agra from here?”

Before
anyone could react, Najma jumped in full steam, “Please, please Bhaijaan, it’ll
be such fun. I’ve never seen the Taj and I’m dying to see Fatehpur Sikri. I’ve
heard it’s beautiful.”

“No,
I’m sorry,” said Asad in a clipped voice. “I have to return to work. There
are important meetings that I postponed for this trip.”

As
if Ayaan knew that this would be his response, he quickly interjected.

“But
Bhai, just take one day more, and then you can fly back from Agra and we can
drive back on our own.”

“Are
you crazy,” Asad bit back.

“How can you drive such a long distance? No, this is just not happening.”

“But
Bhai, Zoya knows how to drive, she and I can take turns.”

Before
Zoya could say anything, Asad scowled and curtly said, “No.”

Zoya
bowed her head letting her hair cover her pained eyes. I’m sure he doesn’t
trust my driving skills. He would never entrust his family’s safety in my hands.

She
turned to Ayaan and said quietly, “Raabert, I can drive, but I don’t have an
Indian license.”

Ayaan
and Najma looked conspiratorially at each other.

“OK,”
he said to Asad, “you cannot turn down this idea. It is so brilliant and so
foolproof. You take the extra day off. In the meanwhile call your driver to
take the train and reach Agra by tomorrow. You fly out day after tomorrow to
attend your precious meetings, and he and I can drive the ladies back home.”

Najma
clapped her hands and pleaded with Mr. Khan.

“Please bhaijaan, this is the
perfect solution. You can’t say no. We may never get such a chance again. And
I’m sure Zoya has never seen the Taj Mahal before. Have you Zoya?”

Avoiding Asad’s gaze, Zoya shook her head.

“See?
You have to say yes.” She folded both her hands placatingly, “please, please,
PLEASE, Bhaijaan!”

How
could he withstand this onslaught? He glanced at Zoya’s bent head and took the
decision.

“OK.”

“Yay!”
shouted Ayaan and Najma pumping their fists in the air and high fiving. Other diners looked at
their table indulgently.

Dilshad
sat back in her chair and sighed. She no longer wondered why Asad was letting
his arm be twisted by his brother and sister. She had also seen Asad and Zoya's pained faces when Najma had gushed about the Taj being the most romantic place on earth. This
solidified her resolve. While she had hoped they could go home as soon as
possible, she couldn’t resist Najma and Ayaan’s obvious glee.

May
be this is a blessing in disguise, she thought. It’ll give me more time to observe Asad, Tanu and Zoya closely. Allah, help me guide my children to happiness. Let their
lives not be shadowed by doubts and crushed dreams. Asad has seen too much pain. He's taken such good care of me and Najma. Don't condemn him to a lifetime of more pain. He deserves so much more. Reham kar mere bachhon pe, mere Maula!

At the Concierge Desk, Asad got the information about
routes, distances, and the time it would take to reach Agra. He wanted them to be
in Agra at least by that evening not wanting to drive at night. He called his
office to reschedule some meetings, book hotel rooms in Agra, and have his
driver reach there at the earliest.

His shoulder and neck muscles felt stiff. As he rotated
his neck and stretched his arms, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see
Tanu, and his hopeful and tentative half-smile slipped.

What was he thinking?

Zoya never ever tried to touch him
the way Tanu always tried to cling to him. For all his harsh words regarding
her lack of manners and etiquette, Zoya, despite having been born and brought
up in the US, was never touchy and feely with him or even Ayaan. She constantly
hugged Ammi and Najma but never once tried to stand too close, or touch him, or
hold his hand. The one time she had held his hand was to bandage it when he had
cut himself. She seemed to intuitively sense people’s personal boundaries and
balance it with her genuine warmth and compassion.

And, like an ass, he had made fun of her
lack of boundaries and limits that night.

"Aapko apni hadein nahin pata hain," he had mocked her.

He half groaned in despair and self-loathing as every
past word and action came to haunt him. How could he have been so blind and
such a fool?

You'll have to try much harder, Jammy. And even I know, you're too much of a gentleman to not give in to my plans for you.

As he looked away from her, suddenly Asad remembered the day Zoya had hugged him.

His hands fisted.

Heartbroken at not being able to find any clue about her
father, she had blindly turned to him for comfort and like an idiot he had
taken forever to hold and comfort her when she needed it most. He relived the
sense of her soft body quaking against his as she wept bitterly. That day he had seen her defeated and beaten. More so than the first time at the dargah.

He should have held her
closer and tighter to ease her pain, brushed her hair off her forehead and
wiped her tears with his thumbs.

He had certainly wanted to.

But that day he
had taken far too long to fight against his desire to crush her in his arms,
kiss her tears away, and never let her go. She had quickly disengaged herself
and looked mortified and apologetic at having come so close to him. He couldn’t help but compare her to Tanu and hated
himself for not recognizing Zoya’s kindness, strength, and integrity, sooner.

Asad moved away to join his mother, and Tanu grimaced as
she let her arm fall away from his.

Dilshad noticed this chilly exchange. I have to end
this. I will not see my son live this way his whole life. I won't let him throw his life away for a mistake which I still refuse to believe he made.

Mind made up, she felt more cheerful today.

Allah would make things right.

They checked out of the hotel, loaded up the car, and
piled in for a half-day’s drive to Agra.

Ayaan stretched out and relaxed in the third row so that he could
relieve Asad later. He lazily strummed his guitar. Najma turned around to look
at him in delight. She was having the best time of her life. She hadn’t spent
so much time with Ayaan Bhaijaan and loved his playfulness and contrast to Asad Bhaijaan’s seriousness. Such a great idea this was. The best road trip ever!

“Play something for us, Ayaan Bhaijaan,” she urged.

Ayaan chuckled and said “sure, but I’m not too good.
Bhaijaan is much better.”

“I know,” Najma piped up, “when you're driving then may
be Bhaijaan can also play something for us. But right now please, koi accha
gaana ho jaye.”

Ayaan fiddled with the guitar self-importantly and then
grinned and said, “OK, but only if you all join in.”

He began with the song “Challa” from the film, “Jab tak
hai jaan.”

Only Najma and Zoya knew some of the words so they joined him. Even he didn't know all the lyrics. Najma teased him.

Asad was relieved to see that Zoya was beginning to be
more involved in Najma and Ayaan’s antics. She smiled more these days.

After a few songs that Dilshad had never heard, she told
Ayaan to at least play a song or two that she knew the words to.

Dilshad slapped her forehead and shook her head tragically.
But she laughed as Najma and Ayaan belted out the silliest lyrics.

She remembered bitter-sweetly when she had gone to see
this film with Rashid. They were newly married then, and Rashid would sing this
song in his besura voice later on, just to annoy her.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she mused.

Ayaan was feeling more playful now.

“Mona darling, can you play the guitar? You are so
multi-talented,” he kidded, “I’m sure you can play at least four musical
instruments.”

Zoya smiled and shook her head, “no, Aapi wanted me to
learn the piano and I did for four years. And yes, I can play a little guitar.”

Ayaan’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected that answer.

Najma’s excitement could not be contained. “Ooh,” she
jumped up and down in her seat, “now you have to play something for us.”

Zoya started to protest, but Ayaan and Dilshad too begged
her to play a little something for them.

Shyly she said, “I know only this one song well. It’s my
favorite and I used to think of it as my theme song.”

She laughed
self-consciously.

Ayaan tried to hand her the guitar but sitting with two
other people so closely was not going to work. She hoped that the seating
arrangements would deter them and get her out of this mess. But she hadn’t
known the force known as Ayaan plus Najma. They squeaked and nagged and bleated
till Asad had pulled over, and Ayaan had exchanged seats with Zoya.

She was mentally kicking herself for even telling him
that she knew how to play the stupid guitar.

With everyone settled in, and the car on the move again,
Ayaan and Najma turned around to look at her with twin puppy dog expressions.

And her heart lightened.

She laughed softly. “OK, OK, I’ll do it. But I may be
rusty. It’s been a while. And, you all have to join in, or I’ll feel too silly. I don't even know if I remember all the words.”

Experimentally touching the strings she tested a few
chords and hummed softly. Tentatively first, and then growing more confident,
she sang her favorite song that Aapi had told her was also her Ammi’s favorite
song which she would sing to her as a baby.

“Aaane wala pal, jaane wala hai.

Ho sake to iss me, zindagi bita lo,

Pal yeh bhi jaane wala hai.”

Dilshad turned around, surprised and mesmerized. She
loved this song too! In fact, it was on one of the cassettes that Rashid had
made for her.

Zoya’s soft voice floated above them. It broke and
caught in some places, but brought a smile to everyone’s faces.

Asad’s heart sank.

He thought about her earlier words,
“I used to think of it as my theme song.” Had his indecisiveness and fears done
even more damage? He remembered how that fateful night she had barged into his
room to unburden herself, and how she had looked half-timid but still so
self-assured.

These past few days he had seen her go completely silent
and yet display a tragic kind of dignity and maturity, that a month ago he
wouldn’t have imagined her capable of.

He took his hand off the steering wheel and pressed his
knuckles tightly against his lips. He ground his lips against his teeth
unconsciously punishing himself and breathed a heavy sigh. He couldn’t believe
the irony of how, now that he had admitted even to himself that he fell a
little bit more in love with her each day, that they would never be able to be
together.

They soon stopped for lunch and found out about a local
dargah that though small, was frequented by travellers of all faiths. After
paying their respects and offering prayers, they once again took to the road.

Tanu was finding all this feel-good togetherness
absolutely suffocating.

She felt caged in the confines of the car sitting elbow
to elbow with Khaala and Najma. Once in a while she got to sit up front with
Jammy but that was getting to be such a bore. He kept stealing glances at the
rear view mirror. She wished she could rip out that thing so then he would at
least concentrate on the road ahead. How they hadn’t had an accident as yet,
she didn’t know.

Asad smiled appreciatively looking at both their heads
close together in the rear view mirror. There was genuine warmth and affection between Zoya and Najma. He hadn't seen any between Tanu and his sister. What had he done?

And Zoya's love and regard for Ammi was indisputable. She would have taken a bullet for Ammi; she very nearly did. She would have been an ideal bahu and sister-in-law to Najma. He had let himself be blinded by prejudice and outward appearances. While this austere belief system had mostly served him right all his life, when it most mattered, his die-hard principles had bitterly conspired against him. Tanveer may dress conservatively, but Zoya's heart was pure, without malice or spite. She was fiercely protective of Ammi and Najma.

Exactly like him.

With a leaden heart, he watched Najma giggle and give Zoya a sideways hug in the rear-view mirror.

In her prayers she had thanked Allah
for the time he was allowing her with her new family in India. She had fallen in love not just with Mr. Khan, but his family as well. How often had she felt that Phuphi was exactly like Ammi. And now, she was so grateful
to Najma and Raabert for inadvertently melting the ice bands around her heart. They would never know what their playful and unconditional acceptance of her in their midst, meant to her.

For a glorious second, she had belonged.

She looked up, and her eyes collided with Asad’s
tortured gaze in the rear view mirror. Her eyes misted, and a frisson of heartache hit her, leaving her breathless and weak with longing. Don't look at me like that, Mr. Khan. It reminds me too much of that video, and when I made the biggest fool of myself.

She blinked, but didn’t immediately look away. She wanted to let him
know that somehow, she would be OK, that she didn’t hold anything against him.

She and Najma teased Ayaan about the real reason for his
wanting to come to Agra: wanting to be reunited with his long-lost ancestors, after visiting with aging relatives at the paagalkhana!

He chased them like a madman at that, grabbing Zoya by
her waist and swinging her around in circles as she screamed with laughter, and
begged to be put down.

Asad gritted his teeth savagely.

He wanted to grab Ayaan
by his collar and shake him. Hard.

He imagined himself grabbing Zoya from behind similarly, and molding her body to his. He wouldn’t have cared who saw him as he nuzzled
her neck and tightened his grip on her waist promising her more intimacy in
private, later on.

Oh god! He raked his fingers through his hair. This trip was a terrible idea. It was making him
crazy to see her suffer. And now, when she was actually beginning to emerge from her grief, he was feeling cut off and exiled. And to feel tormented by this gnawing jealousy against
his own kid brother? Incredibly foolish!

He glanced at Zoya who by now had found a cute monkey family with the mother hugging her baby to her chest and a smaller
monkey following them about.

She eagerly took pictures with her iPad.

Handing her iPad to Ayaan, she pulled Najma into a hug and
asked him to take a picture of both of them with the monkeys in the background.

As he tried to focus on the shot, a male monkey came
charging out of nowhere, and rearing up his legs, smashed them into Ayaan’s
backside.

Najma and Zoya collapsed on the ground, laughing
hysterically.

Even Asad couldn’t resist that sight and wondered if in
his jealous stupor he had imagined this.

Dilshad didn’t see what happened, but she turned around
and looked at the sight before her: Najma and Zoya breathless from
uncontrollable laughter, holding their sides, Asad laughing with his head
thrown back, and Ayaan looking offended and embarrassed, scratching his head
with one hand, and massaging his lower back with the other.

Dilshad wanted to capture this moment forever.

She
whipped out her phone and tried to snap shots of all four of them.

Later, when thinking about this scene, Dilshad tried to
recall where Tanu was during all this hilarity which felt so right and so perfect. To see Asad laugh like that had warmed her heart and soul.

Capturing the moment on camera had been a silent plea to Allah. Please give me this. Let this moment be forever. It had been a vow to herself and her children. I will make it right.

And she remembered that Tanu
had begged off earlier, and wanted to stay in the car because she felt tired. She had
noticed lately that Tanu was acting cranky and not as solicitous of her and
Najma as she had been in the past few weeks. How had this girl waltzed into their lives and turned everything awry?

Dilshad stiffened.

On the other hand, there was Zoya. If it had been Zoya with Asad that fateful night, she would have never accepted a doomed proposal of a marriage of forced honor. She would have taken equal responsibility, and never bound Asad to a loveless marriage. She would have run away in typical Zoya fashion, but not once entered a marriage where there was no love.

Her heart twisted.

But there was something between Asad and Zoya, wasn't there? They avoided each other. But she didn't miss him stealing glances at her. She kept out of his way, and looked shattered. Whenever Zoya caught her looking at her, she put on a fake smile. But her eyes continued to look like muddy pools of torment.

Allah!

Now, back in the car, she took out her phone to look at the pictures she had
taken. She looked closely at a group picture she'd taken of all the kids. Asad and Zoya flanked the others on either side. Asad's face looked grim as he stared ahead, jaw clenched tight. And Zoya stood, shoulders drooping and arms linked with Najma. She wore a slight smile, but it was not the smile that Dilshad was used to seeing on her face. Najma peeked over and grabbed the phone out of her hand to share with
Zoya. Ayaan leaned over from the back seat.

Zoya swatted him saying she didn’t want his Bhopali lice
to get too cozy with her elite New York lice.

A frowning Asad relaxed and smiled.

With their heads together, the three Musketeers, as Najma
had named them, peered at the tiny screen and laughed again at everyone’s
expressions.

Zoya took the phone and quickly sent all the pictures to
her account.

She loved the picture of Mr. Khan laughing. She had seen
him like that only once, and it was the best memory she had of him, and of them
being together.

Najma and Zoya would not let up on Ayaan’s encounter
with the monkey. “He came to say, ‘sup homie, long time no see,' ” Zoya joked.

Even Mr. Khan chuckled softly at this and her heart
soared.

“No,” Najma exclaimed, “he got jealous of Bhaijaan. How
dare he flirt with my wife he must have thought.”

Asad felt that he could relate with the monkey.

Ayaan roared with laughter at Najma’s quip, and pulled
her ponytail.

He was so glad Bhai had asked him to join them on this
trip. He could see that Bhai too was a bit less tense than he had been at the start
of the trip.

Ayaan felt relaxed.

He was able to take his mind
off Mumani’s constant threats and blackmail, and didn’t feel as guilty about
Humaira. Although he missed his sisters and the Zingo Hotties Club, he was
having a great time with Najma and Mona darling. Mona was quieter than he'd imagined, but still intriguing. She had seemed preoccupied initially, but was
sassy as hell as she verbally parried with him and held her own. And getting to know Najma better was an added bonus.Bhabhijaan-to-be, he wasn’t so sure of. She seemed a bit
cold, but she did seem to fit Bhai’s image of a perfect woman, so who was he to
say anything.

They parked to go to see the Taj Mahal. They had to park
away from the monument and either walk some distance, or take a rickshaw or a
horse-drawn buggy.

Najma and Zoya were not interested in a ride. They
wanted to explore the dozens of little souvenir shops on both sides of the
street.

Dilshad had to be the bad guy since Asad had given up
correcting these two.

“Girls,” she scolded. You can walk back and look to your
heart’s content. But right now we need to go together, so that we don’t have to
wait hours for you at the entrance.”

Zoya touched her hands to her ears, and mouthed a sorry
to Phuphi.

"Horse cart!" shrieked Najma in delight. "Please Bhaijaan!"

They piled into two horse carts and were deposited at
the entrance. Again Asad noticed Zoya linger to affectionately pat the horse. He saw her tip the driver a little extra. But Najma dragged her by her arm and they raced ahead to catch a glimpse of the Taj
through the gate.

Dilshad clicked her tongue in frustration. “These girls,” she
groaned.

Tickets bought, and about fifteen eager tour guides fended
off, they all trooped inside the gate and held their collective breaths at the
first glimpse of the Taj. Thousands of people swarmed about, tour guides held
up mirrors against the gate to show the complete reflection of the monument.
People posed on the central marble platform pretending to hold the Taj by its
tip.

Zoya’s eyes misted as she stood before the most romantic
monument of the world.

All clichés fell away.

She could not believe that she was actually seeing it in
all its snowy white magnificence. She had always imagined that the color would
have dulled with centuries of muck and grime, and decades of air pollution. But
it shone milky white as if untouched by time. The manicured gardens around the
Taj contrasted with its whiteness. The pool in front reflected its glory.

Around her, she could hear snippets of
historical details from guides.

“…minarets aren’t at a ninety-degree angle. They tilt
slightly outwards, so that if they collapsed they wouldn’t destroy the
monument.”

Zoya peered at the minarets and couldn’t really tell if
that was true. But it did make a lot of sense.

“ …Taj has a vacuum foundation so that the Yamuna
couldn’t cut through …”

She gazed long at the monument without the urge to take
a single photograph.

Asad noticed two men leering at her and moved closer to
stand beside her while scowling at them threateningly. He rotated his clenched fist.

They slunk away.

She sighed in contentment. This was so right.

“Thank you Allah miyan! For this day,
and for all these experiences. Mujhe aapka har faisla qubool hai.”

He saw the vestiges of pain lift from her face. Asad too felt his prayers answered, and a burden lift.

Slowly, as if in a trance, everyone moved closer to the
main edifice. Najma wanted to pose on the platform and take a picture
pretending to hold the Taj from its spire.

Again Dilshad gently explained, “after we've visited the monument.”

God, correcting her constantly was exhausting. How did
Asad do this all day long all these years?

They removed their footwear, covered their heads and
reverently climbed up to the central courtyard. Even Ayaan was serious and
quiet for a change.

At one time tourists could venture down below to the
real tombs of the sixteenth-century emperor and his beloved wife. But now that
had been sealed off for restricted access only.

Asad had managed to wrangle special passes for this
hallowed visit, and with an official escort, they descended into the cool and
dark underbelly of the monument. They walked down the ramp and came into the
inner sanctuary with two plainly appointed tombs. The false tombs upstairs were
more elaborately decorated.

A couple of people knelt and prayed.

Zoya loved the simple purity of the site. She could feel the
heartbeats of millions of happy and lost lovers from all time, zing through her.

Instinctively, she sank to the ground near the tombs,
closed her eyes and lifted her palms to offer prayer. She thought of her
parents and her father’s gravesite. She thought of how she’d yearned for a
family all her life and how she had found her Ammi in Phuphi.

She had also found love.

So what if it hadn't found her? She was here, at the holiest monuments built to love and its power.

She would be all right.

Tears coursed down her face.

Najma and Ayaan looked at her uncertainly. Dilshad too prayed, eyes closed in repose, palms facing heavenwards. She prayed for love and justice, and most of all, for her son.

Asad stood still, charged and evermore connected to Zoya. Her duas rose from his heart; it throbbed in electrified response.

In
unison, they offered prayers for healing, strength, and each other’s
happiness. Neither felt worthy of the other; their wishes for one another curled up like the incense by the eternal tombs of the emperor and his beloved wife.

The next morning they had planned to visit Fatehpur
Sikri. Asad would take a late afternoon flight back home afterwards.

Tanu had had enough of this company, her feet ached, she
felt nauseous, and in general, she was just having a bad time all around. She begged off
claiming a headache and tiredness. She also hoped to snoop through Zoya’s
things; they were sharing a room again.

It was hotter today than yesterday, and Najma asked Zoya
how she could even bear to be in full-sleeves.

Zoya smiled and said nothing. She held up her water bottle to indicate that she was fine. Though in concession to the heat,
she had piled her hair on top in a messy bun.

At Buland Darwaaza everyone gawked at the massive gate
festooned with giant honeybee hives, and the steep high steps that led up to
it.

Ayaan and Najma scampered up to the top to admire the
souvenirs being hawked by vendors on the landing.

Zoya climbed at a more leisurely pace, and often stopped
to take pictures with her iPad. She got some good shots of Najma and Ayaan
racing to the top framed against the grand doorway. She turned around to get
one of Phuphi climbing up.

Dilshad trailed behind everyone, still deep in thought.

Asad climbed the stairs, a little behind Zoya. He just
knew that being distracted with her iPad, and given her famous track record,
she was a mere step away from tripping and breaking her neck. She couldn’t walk
straight without bumping into something, or falling over on flat ground; this
was a surefire disaster in the making.

And as if it were a self-fulfilling prophecy, he saw, almost in slow motion, her foot catch in a crevice. Her hair flew loose, and her
arms went up to balance and self-correct while her hands still clutched that wretched iPad
desperately.

“ZOYAAA!” His heart in his mouth, he raced to catch her
and did, before she ended up at the bottom in a broken heap of bones.

Holding
her left hand in his and her waist with his right hand, he gently guided her on
to the step next to him, while she fearfully clung to his arm.

Once she had secured her footing, she looked at him to
thank him, and time stood still.

They could not look away from each other’s
eyes, nor break apart from each other’s embrace. His hand on her waist
tightened, his head lowered imperceptibly.

A bee buzzed lazily around them and broke their trance.

As they disengaged self-consciously, he felt his temper fray.

“Can’t you
be more careful and more aware of your surroundings? Have you seen how
dangerous these steps are? If I hadn’t been there, you could have killed
yourself by being so careless.”

Heart still pounding from the near fall, and now his
closeness, she lashed out too, “thank you very much for once again coming to
rescue this clumsy idiot who keeps annoying you like ... like this
bee."

Her eyes flashed as she gestured wildly, "what’s it
to you if I fell? Aapko kya farak padta hai main jiyoon ya maroon? Just stay away from me!”

She saw his eyes widen and nostrils flare; his temper
evaporated to be replaced by pain. Asad grabbed her elbow in a vise-like grip, unaware that his fingers were biting into her flesh and that he
was hurting her.

She rubbed her arm where he had gripped her and looked
at his receding back through blurring eyes. She remembered when he had said,
“if something happened to you I would have gone crazy.”

She knew this was yet
more evidence of his bipolar behavior, express concern, and then bite her head
off the next second.

Do I infuriate you so much, Mr. Khan?

He had called her by her first name again. He always did when he feared for her safety. But then, just as quickly, he reverted to Ms. Farooqui. He did care for her, she knew that much. But he was fighting his
attraction for her because he did not see her as fit or worthy of being his
life partner.

Zoya half-sobbed.

But then, scrubbing her eyes, she decided that anger would be a better defense mechanism. Otherwise she would just turn into a mushy puddle of self-pity.

And she was done crying.

She would get over this even if
it killed her.

Dilshad saw the entire scene unfold, though she was too
far below to hear the words exchanged between them. But she did see how he had
been following her just a little behind keeping a close eye on her, and how he
had leapt to hold her before she fell. She also saw how they gazed at each
other and reluctantly parted, much too long after he had safely set her down.

This is it! I was right, she thought. This is what's meant to be.
Allah, please help them find their way to each other. Don’t give them a lifetime
of pain and heartache. I lost my true love, but let my children be blessed
with the happiness it brings.

Inside, she noticed the two giving each other a wide
berth, but Asad kept glaring at anyone who dared look at her, and periodically glancing
over at Zoya who studiously avoided his gaze.

“Steer clear of Jahanpanah six packs Zoya! You don’t want
to club him to death and cause Phuphi pain, do you?” She gave herself a pep
talk.

“What does he think of himself? Sometimes he's so gentle, and then other times he ruins it all by being so mean.”

She wished she had used her pepper spray or karate moves
on him. So many times she had wanted to clock him for being so ... arrogant and
stubborn and … and just plain Jahanpanah. Sheesh!

But when, her visions of vengeance and causing him
physical pain, turned to those of her wrapped in his arms, she never knew. She was walking sightlessly toward the shrine in the
center of the courtyard, and saw nothing except him holding her close to him,
lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then brushing his
fingers across her cheek. In her fantasy, she felt him stroking her parted lips
with his thumb before bending his head to kiss her.

She bumped into someone.

Behind her, Asad raised his eyes to the sky in exasperation, and sighed audibly.

Zoya dug her nails into her palms painfully. “Stop
daydreaming of him, khuda ke liye! He belongs to someone else and she’s welcome
to him. They can live happily ever after as Mr. and Mrs. Tehzeeb and have an
army of little tehzeebs and—-”

She dragged her dupatta on her head determinedly, and
entered the shrine teeming with devotees and tourists. She spotted Najma and Ayaan ahead of her tying sacred
threads to the jaali. Ayaan was ogling a group of young college girls and Najma
was rolling her eyes.

Oh god, would she ever get a chance to untie a thread
like that? May be you don't deserve to undo a thread, Zoya. Allah must be punishing you for saying, "qubool nahin hai."

With a pang she thought back to how alone and
heartbroken she had felt at the shrine in Ajmer Sharif, and how Mr. Khan had
offered her his own red string.

Enough!

She was much stronger today than that day.

No more self-pity.

Thanking
Allah, she decided to honor her regained spirit and new-found resolve by tying a thread of
hope and new beginnings here. May be some happy soul would come, years later, and untie it because their dua had been accepted. She was Allah's instrument. She was just paving the way for future pilgrims' fulfilled hopes.

After paying their respects at the shrine erected in honor of a favorite Sufi saint who had blessed Akbar with the promise of an heir, everyone
moved to explore the palace, and the exquisitely carved private rooms of the
emperor and his queens. They heard snatches of monologues delivered by guides around
them. Everyone marveled at the intricate cabinet room for the Nav Ratnas, the tomb of the
favorite elephant in the distance, the emperor's raised bed surrounded by a pool that would be filled with itar, the symmetrical gardens ….

The abandoned ghost town was a perfectly preserved slice
of history and a testament to an emperor’s whim, and his heart’s deepest desire.
Lingering to read several signs placed around the monuments, Zoya felt a deep
respect for, and affinity with the original Jahanpanah.

She smiled ruefully at how she had nicknamed Mr. Khan, Jahanpanah, and then appended the title of six packs to that name, a little
later. She blushed remembering him in the bathtub, with his head thrown back,
naked shoulders visible above the bubbles. She smiled slightly, thinking of how
she couldn’t resist peeking at his body from under her lashes and fingers after
he had wrapped his towel low on his waist and she had salivated seeing those
perfectly sculpted abs.

Had she walked in on him more recently would she have
been bold enough to walk up behind him and soap those wide shoulders and then
bend to nip his ear teasingly? And then when she moved away to leave, would he
tug her hand making her splash into the tub on top of him to feel every inch of
his hard naked body under hers?

Her breath caught; the color on her cheeks deepened.

But then she remembered his unsuppressed fury that day
at her inappropriateness and complete lack of tameez.

Her smile slipped and
blush paled.

Her eyes stung.

She imagined him with Tanu by his side to punish herself
for these errant thoughts and daydreams. She would be soaping those shoulders, sharing his bed.

Zoya forced her nails into her palms.

Oh god, when will it stop hurting?

When you leave … an inner voice of reason mocked and incited.

This time Dilshad caught the play of emotions across
Zoya’s face and her heart constricted in empathy. She thought of the number of
times she had caught a glimpse of Rashid with Shireen over these years. She
wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on her worst enemy.

After a late lunch, they dropped Asad off at the airport
and returned to the hotel. Zoya entered her room and saw Tanu sleeping. She
moved about quietly and went in to take a shower. Standing under the cold shower she let her tears flow
freely. All her tightly held emotions and resolve to stay strong washed down the drain.

Fists to her mouth she thought of how hard it was for her to look at
him and wish him a safe flight. She’d opted to look at an imaginary point on
his right shoulder and prayed that her voice wouldn’t tremble and lips quiver
as she said goodbye.

This would be the first time in about six months that they
wouldn’t be under the same roof. She sank to her knees and let the stream of water beat down on her.

Leave, Zoya, she sobbed. Just go. Get out of Dodge.

She thought of Tanu in the next room. She felt jealous
for wanting what Tanu had, and then ashamed of feeling this way.

There's nothing here for you. You're a loser, a misfit. That's why your Abbu never came to get you.

"Tabhi aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayee," Mr. Khan had said.

Ammi!

Ammi!

I'm sorry.

In the bed Tanu heard the shower turn on in the
bathroom, and the plumbing groaned.

She smiled as she thought of her day.

“Good idea to stay
back and go through Miss New York’s stuff.”

After returning from a massage in the hotel spa, she
decided to try on Zoya’s designer perfume and lotion. Then she went looking in
her backpack and carry-on bag. She even tried on a few of her shirts, but the
jeans wouldn’t fit.

In the backpack she struck gold. There was an old
jewelry box and Tanu wondered if there was some expensive jewelry in there that
she could try on too. But she was disappointed. It just had some old
photographs and letters, and a single earring. So dumb.

Bored, she decided to read the letters. They were
obviously written by a man very much in love with his wife but lamenting their
separation. By the repeated mention of Zoya’s name, she was easily able to
deduce that these were her father’s letters to her mother. And thanks to her
conspiracy with Razia bi, Tanu knew exactly who that man was.

Tanveer sat back on the bad and laughed with malicious glee.

Miss New York was grieving for a dead father; Tanu knew that he lived.

Miss New York was pining for a lost love; Tanu had him in the palm of her hand.

She wondered if she should keep the battered jewelry box, but decided it
served no real purpose right now. If she ever needed the contents, she could
always get them from Zoya’s room in the Khan Villa later.

She rummaged around some more, and felt a round bump at
the bottom and took out an old music box. She rolled her eyes. It was the one
she had seen in Zoya’s hands many times when she was moping around in the
garden thinking no one knew that she was crying.

She returned everything to the bag and tidied up. She
knew that Zoya would never know if anyone had been through her stuff; everything was too haphazardly thrown together anyways.

In the plane Asad brooded and agonized over every moment since the day she had told him about her feelings. She had avoided him most of the trip, but today he had felt her pain turn to anger. And for that he was grateful.

A sad Zoya was just not right. A fighting and resistant Zoya was whom he had fallen in love with.

No matter that they couldn’t be together. He would cause her pain anyway. He always did.

He thought about this morning and squeezed his eyes shut in shame as he thought how now, he had even hurt her physically. As they were leaving the compound of Fatehpur Sikri, her sleeve had caught and ripped on a rusty nail in a doorway. Everyone rushed to see if she had been hurt, but thankfully she was fine.

Ammi had gently chided her to be more careful, and Zoya had ducked her head as if scolded.

As she adjusted the torn sleeve to cover her arm, he noticed angry welts around her elbow, and remembered, how just that morning, he had brutally grabbed her arm in a punishing grip.

He swore softly.

This incident made him think of all the times in the past when he had held her just as roughly by her upper arms to yell at her or threaten her. He would violently back her into a wall with barely repressed anger.

He remembered how he would almost lift her off her feet, and bring his face close to hers to hurl hurtful words at her through gritted teeth.

He must have left bruises then too.

He had never been so angry, nor been so physically aggressive with a woman before.

God, he was an animal!

Worse, although she stood up to him toe to toe, nose to nose, always contradicting him and crossing swords with him, she never, not once, said what she could, no, should have: Would he have been as cruel if she had family? A brother or a father to stand up for her? An Ammi to wipe her tears and hold her?

No. Not once did she use blackmail to shame him.

Just once she had reminded him of her lack of a parent: When he had gone against Ammi in suspecting Rashid Ahmed Khan of the worst. Zoya had pleaded with him to forgive his father and trust his mother's instincts.

"She's lost her husband, don't make her lose her son too," she had begged.

He had turned his back on her in fury and barked, "Ms. Farooqui, you have no right to interfere in my family matters. Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai."

You have no family, he had implied.

You're not family, he had declared mercilessly.

What would you know about fathers or mothers, he had silently broadcast.

He had heard her gasp and known even then that he'd crossed a line. Just like the time when he had cruelly sneered, "isliye aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayeen!" That too she'd forgiven him. How could he have ever said that! And why did she continue to forgive his transgressions?

"At least you have a father to hate," Zoya'd whispered that night before running out of his room.

She had only reminded him of her lack of blood relations or legitimate birth then because she had wanted him to reconcile with his father.

Rishton ki ehmiyat?

Self-loathing coursed through him. Even then he was attracted to her and had used the harshest words as a shield for his emotions. Now, his barrage of bitterness had quietly managed to erode her spirit. He squeezed his eyes shut. Instinctively he had sensed that all her life she had carried the weight of one fear: why didn't her father come looking for her? "Kya main itni buri hoon?" he had heard her whisper when she told him about why she had come to India. And like a fire-breathing ogre he had spent all their time together proving just that: "haan, aap buri hain." His terrible words kept reverberating in his head, "isliye aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayeen."

Asad nearly groaned aloud and covered his face in shame.

Thanks to his relentless rejection of her, he had doomed her to permanent self-doubt. And yet her steady generosity and grace shone through.

He'd left her bruised, she forgave him each time.

He'd scowled and taunted, she smiled or teased him, when, for days after, she must have carried marks of his anger on her arms. Is that why she always wore long-sleeved shirts?

Oh god, how could he have ever thought her selfish or inconsiderate? He was the inconsiderate brute.

A part of him yearned to imagine the marks he would have instead liked to leave on her body with his lovemaking.

But he wouldn’t allow his mind to go down that road.

It was wrong.

He made himself think of Tanu.

He felt resentment boil up inside him like acid reflux.

Asad thought back to his conversation with Ammi. Like her, he couldn’t imagine doing anything repulsive like that. And why couldn’t he remember anything from that night?

He had never felt any attraction for Tanu, just fraternal concern, especially after her factory burned down. How could he have had any s*exual feelings for her as he tried to console her? Why couldn't he recall anything?

The only woman who could make him think sinful thoughts was Zoya, and even though he had held her several times either in anger or to break her fall, and wanted to crush her lips with his each time, he had always stepped back and never acted on his fantasies. When Zoya had hugged him in despair, even then he had restrained himself before gently offering whatever little comfort that he could. If he was so self-controlled with the woman he was attracted to, how could he have done anything with Tanu? He kept thinking why he couldn’t remember anything. Had he blocked out his own debauchery?

What if it had been Zoya instead?

His stomach tightened and he felt a flare of desire lick his insides.

“Zoya,” he thought drowsily. “I wish it were you I had made love to. I would have remembered every moment.”

His mind refused to be reined in now.

He thought of that night when she had nagged him about dancing because he had lost the bet that she wouldn’t be able to get any information from the security company about their employees.

Barely awake, he remembered how his heart had knocked in his chest as he’d seen her scared face thinking he was about to strike her again.

Oh god, he had slapped her and she had even forgiven him that!

That night he had instinctively snagged her wrist to stop her from walking away and pulled her to slam her against his chest while encircling her waist with one arm. He couldn't bear that frightened look on her face.

She wanted him to dance, he’d show her that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

He could still feel her heartbeat and ragged breathing as her hair fluttered against his cheek. He had then twirled her. Their bodies had moved against each other fluidly, as he dragged her against him once more, this time with her back against him.

Her back to him and face so close to his, he could have bent an inch or two and sucked on her earlobe. And instead of holding both her hands in his, he could have wrapped his arms low on her waist pulling her hips against his to let her know how much he wanted her. He would have let his hands wander up to cup her bre*asts to trace and stroke her nipples through her shirt. He would have turned her around in the circle of his arms and lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. He’d whisper in her ear how grateful he was for her love of jeans and she would squeeze him closer.

Then he would have carried her to his room to make sweet love to her. She would call out his name. He would love to hear his name on her lips. She had called him by his first name only once, half-delirious from being drugged by that bast*ard Akram!

Or, when he had dipped her, he would have kissed her with enough tongue to make her cling helplessly and breathlessly to his shoulders. And then he would have swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, whispering hotly in her ear, “dance isse kehte hain Ms. Farooqui.”

He nearly groaned aloud. Oh lord, why had he kept fighting his growing attraction to her all those months? Ammi and Najma could have been shopping for rings for his engagement with Zoya! To fight off the attraction he felt for a woman he loved, and to bed a woman he didn't? How did that even make sense? You stupid jerk! He pounded his fist on the armrest. The passenger next to him looked at him in alarm.

"Sorry," he whispered and excused himself. In the restroom he splashed cold water on his face.

He couldn't stop himself from imagining backing Zoya against the wall in his room and kissing and sucking her lips till they were swollen. Those lips! How often had he felt like tracing them with his thumb? He would part her legs with his knee and thigh, and angle to fit himself just right so that he could drag her leg up over his and grind into her. He would continue to kiss her, nip and lick her throat. Tugging her shirt lose he’d slide his hands in to feel her skin and let his hands trail over her stomach and then her back, before unhooking her bra to catch her bare bre*asts tumbling into his waiting palms. He would look long and deep into her drooping eyes as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs. Whipping her shirt over her head he would dip his head to take her nipple in his mouth and suck till she went completely crazy—-

The flight attendant announced that the plane would land in fifteen minutes. He shook his head as if that could knock the visions out of his head. He brushed his hair off his forehead impatiently, and waited miserably to retrieve his bag.

Back home, the silence and emptiness bit at his heels.

Instead of going directly to his room, he wheeled his bag toward Zoya’s room and stood at the door looking in. The bed was not made as tidily as he’d have liked. A towel was slung messily over a chairback. He almost smiled, but pain gnawed at his insides.

Dilshad
noticed Tanu’s fake smile. She looked over at Zoya’s lowered lashes as she
swiftly turned her face away. She noted her clenched hands and bowed head, and her heart ached for Zoya. She wanted to stroke her head and comfort her: everything's going to be OK. I'll take care of it, she wanted to say.

She turned to look at Tanu and grimaced. Dilshad thought of how Tanu had refused to eat
anything at breakfast opting only for dry toast and weak tea. In fact that had
been her diet for some time now.

“It
couldn’t be. Such signs so early? I have to move fast.”

The
trip home felt long, but was uneventful. Mostly everyone slept due to sheer
exhaustion.

Zoya
had watched the video of Mr. Khan wanting her to stay back so many times, that her
phone and iPad were draining rapidly. Stop it! Stop tormenting yourself. Just delete this. Cut the cord, will you?

Her finger hovered to make a clean surgical cut.

But she couldn't do it. May be tomorrow. One more look.

She sneaked peeks at the pictures Phuphi
had taken in Sikandra. She loved this shot of him actually laughing at Ayaan’s
discomfort. But she felt a pang when she saw the photos of Mr. Khan with Najma,
Tanu and Ayaan at Chokhidaani.

She was an outsider. These four would be in many other photographs. Weddings … family portraits … babies … She nearly gagged with the pain that coursed through her. Her eyes stung. She would never be a part of the family that she
had irrevocably fallen in love with.

“I
better start thinking of flying back home. When we reach Bhopal I’ll call a
travel agent to get my tickets booked. I can tell Phuphi and Najma that I have
to leave early because my visa is expiring. Thank god, I’ve already bought gifts
for everyone from Chokhidaani and Agra.”

She hadn't known what to get Mr. Khan though. She had traced her fingers over a miniature sculpture of the Taj, but then removed them quickly as if burned by the stone. Stupid idiot! Don't you dare!

Zoya had finally decided on a simple photo frame. She'd have the picture of all four of them printed up in sepia and give him that. No, probably just leave it on his table. She may never be able to look at, or be near him. She'd made a big enough fool of herself already.

They
reached home in the late afternoon, and everyone left to freshen up and rest.

In
the evening, Dilshad knocked on Tanu’s door. After initial pleasantries, she
told Tanu what Asad had told her in Jaipur.

Tanu,
shocked and shamed, hid her face in her hands and began to cry. “I’m sorry
khaala, I know you must be upset. But Jammy is so kind and upright, that he
immediately proposed to me.”

Dilshad
said firmly, “Tanu, I have decided that in light of everything that's happened,
we should go to my doctor and have you examined. If you aren’t pregnant, then
we need not go through with this wedding since neither of you are in love with
each other. I just want what’s best for my son. We’ll go a week from now to
fully confirm since it may still be too early.”

Tanu
was surprised at Khaala’s openness and smarts. Mentally she knew that this was
the perfect opportunity to pass off her pregnancy as Asad’s fault, but she
didn’t like the idea of going to Khaala’s doctor. And why wait for a week? The
sooner they all got the good news, the better!

“I
understand Khaala and I agree. But we can go to a doctor that I have been
visiting already for when I sprained my ankle. In fact we can get an
appointment tomorrow itself.”

Dilshad
hated Tanu’s eagerness. It made her even more suspicious.

“No,
I’ve already fixed an appointment with my doctor. I’ll just ask them to
reschedule it for tomorrow.”

Seeing
that she had no way to wiggle out of an appointment with khala’s doctor, Tanu
agreed graciously.

“I’ll
just have to put on a darned good show tomorrow,” she thought to herself.

Dinner
was a quiet affair. Najma was the only one who was talking about the trip and
the shopping, food and the historic places.

Asad looked at her indulgently.

Even
Najma stopped mid-way, surprised that he didn’t tell her to eat quietly.

“Wasn’t
the Rajasthani food yummy, Zoya?”

Zoya
nodded.

Asad
sneaked a look at Zoya from under his lashes. She had stopped eating her food
with as much relish and gusto as she used to. Sometimes, just the way she threw her head back, closed her eyes, and moaned softly when
eating kachoris or pizza, or Ammi’s phirni, was enough to make him hard. He
forced himself to look at Tanu who looked pleased. His mood soured.

Najma
started chattering about the wedding functions, not noticing the change in
Bhaijaan’s expression. He looked up sharply at Zoya. Once again she was using her hair to hide her face. But he could see her hand gripping the fork by her plate. She was stabbing her thumb pad with its tines. He nearly shot out of his chair. Asad felt trapped. And helpless.

Zoya! Please!

Clearing his throat, he called out, "umm, Ms. Farooqui?"

She raised startled eyes to search his face.

"Could you please pass me the salt?"

"Sure," she whispered, almost harshly.

Biting her lips, she did as he asked. She passed the salt shaker to Najma. He lowered his gaze apologetically, unable to bear the flash of pain and hope in her eyes. But at least she had unwrapped her fingers from the fork. He looked at Najma. She now talked of dieting so that she could fit into the new
style lehengas.

Tanu
intervened, “Najma, I can help design a dress for you that hides some of your
flab and makes you look slimmer.”

Najma’s
face fell.

Asad
frowned and looked away, not wanting to correct Tanu for being so insensitive
to his baby sister. How could he have missed this? He wondered how he never had any such qualms about shouting
at Zoya publicly, even though she had never said anything so hurtful. In fact she
had always rushed in to defend Najma or Ammi or take the blame on herself.

He
could kick himself for not noticing those things earlier.

“Zoya,
will you help me with some fitness training so that I can lose weight more
quickly?”

Zoya
nodded, not wanting to share as yet her plans for leaving.

She reassured Najma,
“yes, we can start tomorrow, but Tamtatar you don’t need to lose weight. You
are gorgeous the way you are. Girls would kill for those curves.”

Najma’s
smile sparkled, and Asad looked up at Zoya gratefully.

But
she was still talking animatedly to Najma, “we can do some stretches and then
go for a walk or a run, but it’s too hot outside. Yoga? Have you tried Zumba?
It’s such fun! You’ll love it. Or, you know what? We can just put some music on
and dance. That’ll be more fun.”

Najma
was completely diverted now.

Dilshad
looked at Zoya with new respect and her heart felt full as her resolve
hardened, “Please Allah, help me find a way to make this girl my bahu.” The urgency was real. Just before dinner Zoya had smiled too wide and thanked her for the trip. "I'll always cherish these moments with you and everyone, Phuphi. These will be my favorite memories of India," she had said. And Dilshad knew. Zoya was bidding farewell.

The
next day, right after Mr. Khan left for work, loud music could be heard coming
from the Khan Villa.

“Badtameez
Dil,” “Dreamum Wakeupam,” and “Balam Pichkari” kept being replayed while Zoya
and Najma danced up a storm.

Zoya
felt light-hearted as she wiped her dripping face with a hand towel.

Najma
lay, nearly passed out, but grinning, on the floor. “Oh Zoya, that was such
fun. We have to do this everyday,” she panted.

“You
know what we should do next,” said Zoya. “A quick shower and then manis and
pedis for each other.”

“Yay,”
squealed Najma. “I love you Zoya,” she sighed with contentment. “I wish you
could stay with us forever.”

She
didn’t see Zoya hide her face in her towel.

At
the clinic, the doctor told Dilshad that the results showed that Tanu was indeed
pregnant. Before Dilshad could ask more questions, Tanu complained of a
headache and tiredness, and announced that she wanted to go home immediately.
In her rush to put on a good show, she missed the look that passed between
khaala and the doctor.

Back
in the car, while she faked exhaustion and dozed, she congratulated herself in
preventing khaala from asking questions about how far along she was.

“Now
she will have to agree to the nikaah,” she silently celebrated peering at Dilshad’s
somber face slyly.

After
a long bath, Najma felt too sleepy and tired for a mani-pedi session, so she
promised to do so after a long nap. It was summer break after all, and it was meant
to catch up on one’s beauty sleep.

This
gave Zoya some time to call around for tickets to NY. Unfortunately, the
earliest flight was 19 days from today. She finalized the tickets, making sure
that they would not be couriered to this address, assuring them that she would
come to pick them up personally.

She
re-watched the video of Mr. Khan saying “mat jao Zoya,” and wept silently.
Falling back on her bed and huggng her iPad to her chest, she thought of all
those moments they had shared when it felt that he would nearly kiss her. How
many times had she felt his arms around her and looked into his eyes darkening
with some untold emotion? What if he had kissed her? She thought of how recently he was much gentler with her. More solicitous even. I don't want your pity!

Why couldn’t he love her
as much as she loved him?

She
wanted him so bad, it hurt.

How much had she negotiated with Allah! Every waking thought. It began with: please don't make me fall in love with him, during their spats and sparring, to: please make him fall in love with me! And now: please don't make him pity me.

Just please, make it stop hurting.

She needed to get out of here. Out of sight, out of mind, must have some truth to it after all.

She sighed. Just one day she had gone without seeing him. She'd hungered for a glimpse of him on their return. But she dreaded the family meals the most. Tamatar would gush about wedding preparations, and her heart would plummet to her heels. Even at the dining table, she felt like a hanger-on. They were all family, and deserved to be at the table. Here she was, intruding on their intimacy. But she would be eternally grateful to Phuphi and Najma! Not once did they make her feel left out.

Well
rested after her nap, Najma filled the tub in Zoya’s bathroom with hot water, and they sat at opposite ends soaking their feet. Music was playing on the
iPad. Najma had rolled up her salwar but Zoya was wearing a pair of short
shorts that Najma kept eyeing with envy.

“You
look so cute in those,” she said for the tenth time. “I wish I could wear shorts but Bhaijaan
would kill me.”

Zoya
had her nail kit laid out on the edge and held Najma’s foot in her
towel-covered lap to start exfoliating the skin around the nails.

“I
know,” said Zoya, “If he sees me now, I’ll be dead meat. But we’ll be done
before he gets back.”

A
teensy part of her wished that he could see her in shorts. She’d want to see him
groan in desire and be unable to keep his hands and mouth off her. She imagined
him trailing his fingers on her bare legs and thighs while she arched and wiggled
with pleasure in his lap.

She
continued to dream with her eyes wide open, seeing the shorts discarded on the
floor and her ankles over his shoulders as he—-

Najma
sighed loudly in pleasure, and Zoya’s s*ex dream popped.

It
was such fun to have Zoya around, Tamatar thought. She would miss her so much
when she left. She wished that Bhaijaan was getting married to her instead. She
would have been perfect for him, always standing up to him, and not scared of
him at all. Tanveer was kinds boring. But she seemed to be his type.

Now
scrubbing Zoya’s heel, Najma asked her if she remembered their conversation about
love from several months ago.

“Remember Zoya, you said once you fell in love, aap unse ladengi,
unse rooth jaya karengi, and you'll wait for him to manao you? Ammi and I love your fights with Bhaijaan by the way! Do you still feel the same?”

Zoya
bent her head pretending to choose a nail color and let her hair fall as a curtain
over her face, “I was just being silly then, Tamatar. Nahin, main unse nahin
ladungi. But may be he'll fight with me, kyunki main itni paagal hoon. He may dislike my craziness, and find me irresponsible and childish. Yeh wala laga doon?”
she asked holding up a bright pink nail color.

Najma
sensed a deep ache in Zoya, but couldn’t exactly put her finger on it. The last
time they had talked about such things, Zoya had been giddily chattering about true
love as fun, and playful nok-jhonk between soul mates. But now there was a
too-serious tone, and a streak of cynicism in her voice. Her new view of love
seemed despondent and heartbreaking.

“When you marry, what kind of person would you want your husband to be?”

“Main
nikaah nahin karungi. I’m just not cut out for it.” Zoya said with a dull finality.

“But
Zoya, how can that be? Everyone gets married. Every girl dreams of a prince charming!”

“I
know Tamatar, but to dream of prince charming, you must have some princess-like qualities, right? And that's not me. I don’t want to think about getting married. I want to work, and do a lot of things like travel more. And may be no one would want to marry
me. I am too independent and say and do stupid things. I am a misfit in America, and in India,” she laughed bitterly to hide her pain.

"C'mon Zoya! You're not silly at all. And whoever said anything about being a misfit? You're such fun!"

Najma couldn't understand why Zoya was talking like this. She c*ocked her head to one side and looked at Zoya quizzically. Something was
wrong. Very wrong.

And
danged if she wouldn’t try to find out what it was.

Dilshad
had just finished talking to her doctor and went to Tanu’s room. She knocked
and then entered the room without waiting to be invited in. Tanu was on her bed
going over some papers and looked up in alarm.

“Khaala?
Ayeye, sab kucch theek toh hai na?”

“Tanu
the doctor just called. She said that there may be some mis-reading of the
tests. They want you to come back in again and do a whole blood panel and
probably even an ultrasound. I hope everything is okay with the baby. Please be
ready at 4 tomorrow.”

She
didn’t miss Tanu’s expression of alarm as her eyes widened.

That
evening before dinner, Dilshad decided to talk to Asad. “I want you to sit and
listen very carefully." He did as she asked and looked up at her in agitation.

"Kya hua Ammi?"

"I took Tanu to the doctor today, and we found out that
she’s pregnant.”

“WHAT?”
Asad leaped up and started to pace the floor while running his hands through
his hair.

“I
kept hoping that it wouldn’t be true. That somehow nothing happened that
night,” he muttered bleakly under his breath.

“Asad!”
Dilshad commanded, “sit.”

His
eyes stormy and face twisted in agony, he sat and dropped his face in his
hands.

But
he couldn’t sit still for long. He began pacing back and forth again, and eventually
walked to his bookcase slamming his fist into its side.

“Asad!
Calm down. I have something important to tell you.”

But he couldn’t bear to
hear anything. All he could see what the end of his miserable life.

Grabbing
his car keys he banged out of his room and the house, as if chased by an army of
demons.

Dilshad
sighed, “Allah! Never listens, that one.” She raised her eyes upward and prayed
for his safety and happiness.

I will make it right.

She
walked into the living room, and bumped into Najma. “Najma, be careful.”

“Sorry
Ammi.”

Dilshad
noticed that Najma too was preoccupied. What is going on in this house?

“Kya
hua beta?” She asked guiding her daughter to the sofa.

“Woh,
Ammi, I’m worried about Zoya.”

“What
happened to Zoya? Is she OK?”

“I
don’t know. There seems to be something too sad and quiet about her. Do you
think she’s missing her Abbu?”

“When
I asked her about it again today, she seemed really hard on herself. She said
that she probably isn’t worth being loved because she is stupid and a misfit.
How ridiculous is that?”

She continued to muse out loud, "that's just not like her at all. I wonder what's going on."

Dilshad’s
heart wrenched. She knew exactly why Zoya would think something like that. Her
idiot of a son had no sense at all. Knowing Zoya, she knew that that girl would
have already booked her tickets to New York by now.

She
needed to fix this soon or something terrible would happen. Too many hearts
would be broken.

In
the car, Asad slammed his already-bruised fist on the steering wheel. All he could see before
him was a swirling and disintegrating collage of Zoya’s face: smiling, angry,
sad, happy, naughty, and angelic. A part of him had hoped that they could still
be together by some quirk of fate, but now there was no hope.

“You
stupid, stupid jerk,” he berated himself for the thousandth time.

“What have
you done?”

Finding
himself close to the dargah he wrenched the car to a violent stop. He parked
and walked the narrow lane toward the shrine, each step burdened by guilt and angry
regret.

He
entered the shrine with his head covered and bowed. Sitting down he glanced at
the floor sightlessly. Someone coughed, and he looked up.

Her
head was covered with a white dupatta this time and she was staring stonily at
her clasped hands. Tears were flowing down her face just as they had that first
time he saw her here. He didn’t realize when his own eyes blurred. She hastily
wiped her tears and got up to leave after offering a quick prayer.

He
nearly got up to follow her, but what could he even say to her? He wasn’t sure
how much longer he stayed after that. It seemed as if every event and encounter
was mocking him for thinking himself so principled and morally superior.

He
hung his head and hunched his shoulders.

As
he was leaving the shrine, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he
stiffened.

“Jee?”
he said harshly and impatiently.

His
father stepped out of the shadows and moved his hand away.

“Ayaan
told me that you were getting engaged?”

Asad
nodded assent.

“You
look about as miserable as I feel,” muttered Rashid.

Asad
picked his head and stared at this man.

“Why
are you getting married if you don’t love the girl?”

“How did yo—-?”

“I
saw the way you looked at Zoya right now. A blind man can see that you are
hopelessly in love with her.”

Asad’s
head swam. How did his father know Zoya? And how—-?

He cleared his clogged throat, “you
know Ms. Farooqui?”

“You
mean Zoya? Yes, in fact I met here for the first time in December as she moped
because someone had shouted at her for being irresponsible and careless.”

Rashid looked at his son knowingly.

Asad
ducked his head, remembering the incident well. It was one of the many times that he had humiliated her for not being conventional and conservative enough for a girl from a proper family with upright moral standing. And he'd said those ugly things to her on the day of her mother's death anniversary. He squeezed his eyes shut and forcibly expelled his breath.

“We
are good friends now." His father continued. "But I haven’t seen her recently nor talked to her. Obviously
something is troubling her too. She looked heartbroken in there.”

Asad
felt torn. He wanted to walk away and never look back. But he also wanted to
linger. He wanted to hear more from his father about Zoya and what he meant
about being similarly miserable. But he couldn’t find the courage to ask him
directly.

Wait,
did he just call him his father
—-?

For
the first time, Rashid felt hopeful about his son. He could see that Asad was
not glaring at him hatefully, but was actually silently crying for help by
letting the man he hated even this close to him for this long.

He
felt elated.

“Don’t
make the same mistake I made eighteen years ago,” he said somberly.

Asad
looked at him sharply.

His heart ached for his son. He knew too well the pangs of love and regret. To have true love and to turn your back on it? Was it a family curse?

“Don’t
let the woman you love get away because of some misplaced sense of loyalty or
duty. You will condemn yourself to a life sentence of silent suffering and hopeless yearning.”

Rashid’s
voice broke in anguish.

“You
will resent everyone around you and loathe yourself for the rest of your life. Every day will be cursed with regret and wanting to end it all. And one day, even your children will hate you for your cowardice.”

He
dashed the moisture from his eyes and patting Asad on his back one last time,
walked away into the night.

Asad
stood rooted to the ground.

He
couldn’t believe that the words he had just heard were nearly the same as the ones
that he had been hurling at himself for the last few days. They were his father's words but his constant thoughts. In just a few days
he had felt his spirit battered and soul bruised. And this man had lived like
this for eighteen years? Because he knew that his father was reciting this list of pain from personal experience. Would he become his father after all—not just hurting a woman he loved, but also living a life of self-loathing?

His
vision cleared as if a muddy veil had been lifted.

All rancor dissipated.

He
felt a burning but fierce kinship with his father in that moment of absolute
despair. He had missed his father's hand on his head all these long years.

Asad's
throat wrenched out as if with a mind of its own, “Abbu!”

Rashid
halted and stood as if carved in stone.

His
heart soared.

He
turned and blindly groped for his estranged son who fell into his embrace and
sobbed in his arms like a baby.

Neither
knew how long they stood there. The street was emptier when they stood apart
and looked into each other’s streaming eyes.

The father touched his son's face. His fingers traced his features like a blind man blessed with sight. Brokenly
Rashid tried to tell his son to learn from his example. “Wrest the happiness
you deserve from fate’s cruel hands. It’s your birthright. Don't let anyone
tell you otherwise.”

Wiping
his son’s tears, he smiled gratefully. His teeth gleamed in the night. “If I
died today, I’d die a happy man because finally I was able to hold my son in my
arms and hear him call me ‘Abbu.’ I am so sorry for not being a good Abbu to
you and your sister. May Allah never forgive me.”

“No,
Abbu, don’t say that. I too have been blind and rigid.”

With
his hand on his head, the father blessed his son with a life full of joy and
happiness.

“Yes,
there will be some tough decisions ahead, but you will be stronger for it. Do not
hurt yourself anymore. You deserve to love and be loved. You are a good man. Fight
for your love. I didn’t, and regret it every day of my life.”

As
Asad drove home that night, he felt as if a weight he had carried around him
most of his life, had been lifted.

Finally
Dilshad had been able to corner her son, after his return, to tell him about her
suspicions.

“What?
How can you say that Ammi? Why would she do that? And now you say that the
doctor has confirmed the ... the pregnancy too.”

“I
don’t know, it’s just a feeling that I have. All through the trip I kept
noticing little things. Her diet and gestures ... the way she moved, all of it seemed
too familiar. A body doesn’t react so quickly after conception. It takes anywhere from 9-12 days
for even doctors to be able to say if a woman is pregnant. And if we count from
that night, it’s been only 9 days.”

“What
are you saying Ammi? I don’t understand. Even so, it ... it does fall within
the 9-10 day range you mentioned.”

For
a second, he couldn’t believe that he was even having this conversation with his
mother! What had happened in the last two weeks that his life was completely
turned upside down? How could he be so embroiled in a situation so distasteful, when he had prided himself as a man of morals and strict principles?

“Asad,
you are so naïve! I am saying, I suspect that she has been pregnant for more
than 9 days.”

“What?
Do you know what you are saying?”

He
had begun to pace again. His hands were itching to do some damage.

“Calm
down! I know, even I couldn’t believe it myself. But I have experience and my
instincts are rarely wrong. And Dr. Sharma also said that given her body
language she may be pregnant for more than 9 days. She can tell us for sure
only after more tests.”

Asad
looked at her with a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. He dared not hope, but could it be that he hadn't erred after all? He didn't even care about Tanveer's betrayal. Could he finally have a chance with Zoya?

“I
have convinced her to go with me to the doctor again for a more extensive
check-up tomorrow,” she said, patting his hand.

“But
Ammi, if you are right, then why will she go with you tomorrow? It’s the
easiest way to be caught lying. And if she doesn’t agree, than how do we prove
any of this?”

Dilshad
frowned at his pessimism in exasperation. He was behaving as if he wanted Tanu to be
pregnant with his child. So many questions of his mother who’s trying her best to
help him!

And
she was pretty sure he mustn’t have asked HER a single one.

Men
were such duffers, even if this one was the apple of her eye!

“Yes,
you are right,” she continued patiently. Sometimes
things needed to be spelled out and diagrammed for this son of hers.

“But
she hasn’t backed out as yet. So either she’ll try to come up with an excuse or... Which is why I wanted to tell you in advance. She probably knows that till
the birth we can’t determine paternity. We have to keep an eye on her and I
also want you to hire an investigator who can find out a little about her
background and her life in Kanpur. I am not going to be taken for a fool. I
will not let her ruin my children’s happiness if she is lying about this.”

“I
wonder why I can’t remember anything from that night,” he muttered to himself.

“What?”
Dilshad almost shouted. “What did you just say?”

“I
said that I can’t recall anything from that night that—-“

“Asad!”
This time she did shout.

“Tell
me everything that happened that night, this instance. Do not hide anything,
you understand?”

Embarrassed,
he did. He told her about Tanu bringing him some milk, feeling dizzy, and then
waking up to find—-

In
a flash Dilshad understood it all. She knew it would be futile to talk to Asad
right now. She needed to think more about this.

Meanwhile
Asad was paralyzed with doubt and hope. On the one hand, he didn’t want to
betray the trust of a close friend whom he may have hurt, but on the other,
there were some things about her that had begun to nag him. It didn't add up. And
the biggest red flag now seemed to be his complete lack of memory of what
happened that night. Knowing himself, and thinking more calmly about the
incident, he knew he wasn’t capable of such an act.

His
mind and heart warred.

Finally,
he decided to trust his Ammi’s instincts, and Abbu’s blessings; he took a leap
of faith.

He
called Prasad to find the best investigator who could do a quick but extensive background
check on someone whose details he was forwarding.

Before
leaving his room Dilshad looked at him fondly and put her hand on his head.

“Don’t
worry, we will fix this mess. But what did you say to Zoya?”

He
looked at her in confusion. “I haven’t told her any of this.”

She
resisted rolling her eyes and clutching her forehead in dismay. “No, I mean did you ever say
anything to her about being unfit as a wife or bahu?”

His
world reeled.

“Najma
told me that they were chatting about love and marriage, and Zoya
said that she won’t get married because she wouldn’t make a good wife or
daughter-in-law.”

Seeing
his shattered expression she knew she was right. He had done the damage, he
would have to fix that one on his own.

That night she had another of her nightmares. And try as she might she couldn't repress crying out. She was so mortified when everyone came to check on her. Zoya dared not look at Mr. Khan. But from under her lashes she saw him frowning. Her heart stopped. Please Allah miyan, I hope I didn't call out—-

Asad frowned. She'd had such nightmares before. She looked shaken up but always brushed off Ammi's concern.

Regret hollowed him. He wished he could hold her. But no, he was probably a part of her nightmares now.

“This
is so embarrassing,” She said softly. “Aapi has put my name and profile on some
matrimonial website, because she's decided that I must get married this year.”

Asad forgot to exhale. Najma
guffawed and then squealed with delight. Dilshad looked at Asad whose head was
bent. Tanu liked this bit of news a lot. Things may finally get easier, she
thought.

“Waise
Zoya, by the way, how about you and Ayaan bhaijaan?”

“WHAT?”
bellowed Asad.

Zoya
glared at him angrily. Oh, so I’m not good enough for your brother either! It
was a good thing that Phuphi and Tamatar were here, or she’d have bashed his
skull in.

“Think
about it Bhaijaan. Both of them are so similar and get along so well. They
would make a perfect jodi. The most fun couple of Bhopal! Just imagine! Mona
Darling Weds Raabert! And their kids would be born reciting shayari. How cute!”
she clapped her hands merrily.

“Ayaan
is getting engaged to Humaira,” Asad declared, a bit too quietly, the veins in
his forehead nearly popping.

The
vision of Zoya’s children had him seeing red.

Dilshad
saw him walk away to his room and heard the door close softly behind him.

Rolling
her eyes and blinking to keep from crying, Zoya spoke to Najma. “Its not funny,
Tamatar, Aapi’s even sent me some ‘promising’ candidates that I’m supposed to
check out and let her know.”

“I
want to see, please,” begged Najma bouncing on her toes. Zoya looked at her with a sinking heart and
then shrugged.

Eh,
it could be fun to rip the clowns to shreds. She needed to feed her anger, or
she’d burst into tears right here.

She
brought out her iPad and soon both of them were bent over the prospective
matches suggested by Aapi.

“Ooh,
look this one is a doctor in Delhi.”

“Nah!
He’s already balding.”

“Business
in Lucknow?”

“But
he hasn’t even graduated high school!”

“Computer
guy in Hyderabad?”

“Too
short.”

Her
email alert pinged.

It
was from Aapi.

“Oh
no! No! No! No!” Zoya screamed and leapt up on the sofa jumping in agitation. Her
iPad and phone slid to the floor. Asad came rushing out of his room, even
though he couldn’t bear to see and hear more evidence of his world crashing
around him. He
still couldn’t wipe out the image of a pregnant Zoya, or a Zoya holding a baby,
from his mind.

That
baby was going to be his.

“Ms.
Farooqui are you okay?” Even the sight of her hopping on his precious sofa
couldn’t override the concern in his voice.

“What
happened Zoya?” asked Najma. This was such fun.

Zoya
bent down to retrieve the iPad and fish out her phone which had gotten lost
under the sofa. Her ass waved in the air, and Asad sucked in his breath. He
hadn’t seen a cuter butt, and if no one else were here, he’s just lift her over
his shoulder and carry her to his room to get started on making that baby.

“I
will kill Aapi!” She muttered under her breath.

“Zoya!
Aise nahin kehte hain beta.”

“But Phuphi you don’t know what she's done.” She gesticulated wildly, using air
quotes, and nearly in tears.

“She
just emailed me that a ‘good friend’s son’ is in Bhopal and will ‘drop by’
tomorrow and ‘take me out for coffee.' ”

Asad’s
heart stopped.

Najma’s
glee knew no bounds. She clapped in delight. Laughing, she taunted Zoya, “how ironic. Just yesterday
you said you won’t get married! And today? Boom! You challenged the universe.
Now within 24 hours, proposals, ladkas and rishtas. Soon shehnai. Ab to Zoya
gayee kaam se.” She danced around trying to evade Zoya’s punches.

Zoya
stomped her foot and then ran to her room. “This is so not happening! I hate
this. I’m going to talk to Jeeju.”

Najma
chased after her. “But what does he do? Is he based in the US?”

They
could still hear Zoya ranting. “I’m not going out with some lame guy! I don't care even if he
is from the Bay area, and works for Apple!”

“APPLE!!!
Zoya you are sooooo lucky. Free iPads and iPhones for life! Ask if he has a
brother, OK?”

Dilshad
turned to Asad who was still reeling from all the bad news ... and what’s with
Tamatar going on about this loser’s brother?

“I’m
not going to send her alone with some man we don’t even know,” Dilshad spoke
gravely. “You and Tanu will join them, and make sure that everything is okay.”

Oh
god, what fresh hell is this? He was to be her chaperone now? Yes, he deserved
to suffer for being a total ba*stard to her, but like this?

For
the first time in her life, Zoya was not able to talk Aapi out of her decision, or get Jeeju to support her.

She
first had herself a good cry.

Then
stomping mad, she got ready for the date from hell. She
had one mind to apply the smelliest oil in her hair, and braid it in sausage rolls,
borrow a pair of granny glasses from somewhere, and wear her most faded shirt
and ripped jeans.

Aapi
was crazy if she thought that she’d go get a mani and pedi for this.

No
way, Jose!

But
on finding out that Mr. Khan and Tanu were going too, she decided to take
better care of her appearance, even applying make-up carefully to cover up the
puffiness of her eyes. Her hands had almost reached out to wear the only salwar kameez she'd packed with her, but no. She wouldn't change who she was. Not even for him.

That
evening everyone, except Asad, waited in the living room. He was in his room,
supposedly working on an important project.The
doorbell rang. Slamming the laptop shut with unnecessary roughness, he decided
to make an appearance after all. One
look, and his heart went out to her. She was gripping her hands tight, and her kohl-lined
eyes still betrayed some redness.

A
giggly Najma opened the door and said Hi to someone shyly.

“Zoya?”

“No,
I’m her friend Najma. Please come in and meet everyone.”

“Asalamu Walekum. I’m Omar. Nice to meet you all.”

Everyone
was checking him out. Head to toe. He stood, shoulders back, hands pushed into his pockets and head co*cked to the side.

Najma
instantly approved of the tall, good looking and well-dressed cutie pie. She
made eyes at Zoya behind Omar’s back with exaggerated head nods while making the
sign of A OK with her hand.

Asad seethed with jealousy. He could have thrown something.

Najma
stepped forward and introduced Zoya. He shook her hand. “We’ve met,” he said
roguishly.

Zoya
tilted her head to one side haughtily.

“We
went to the same school till eighth grade.”

Zoya
still couldn’t place him.

“Omi
the Zamboni,” he rolled his eyes and laughed huskily.

“Omi!”
Zoya screamed and launched herself in his arms. He laughed and swung her
around. They hugged for what seemed like an eternity to Asad. His hands were balled by his side, his face set in a murderous grimace.

“But
how come, here, after so long?” she asked when they disengaged. Asad had died a
few deaths by now.

“Cousin’s
wedding, and then Ammi called your Aapi, and the rest, as they say, is history! True story!”
he answered sheepishly and winked at Najma.

Aw! he's so cute, thought Najma.

Zoya
pulled him by his hand to seat him on the sofa, eager to find out more about
Omar. She had a million questions.

Dilshad
interrupted. “Beta you'll get late. May be you should leave now. Earlier I
had thought of sending Asad and Tanu with you, but since you know each other so
well, may be that’s not necessary.”

“No
Ammi, we don’t mind. This way we’ll get to know Ms. Farooqui’s long-lost friend
better.” Asad ground out his words, while glaring at Zoya, car keys biting into
his hand.

Dilshad
was surprised, but then, not really. She smiled to herself. Hmm, may be this is
just the kick in his pants he needs.

Three
hours later when they returned, Dilshad could tell by her son’s thunderous
expression that he'd had a very bad time. He slammed into his room and she
heard a muffled growl as the door banged close.

Tanu
looked pale, and Zoya, after so many days, looked exhilarated.

In
his room, Asad paced and fumed. His jaw and head hurt from clenching his teeth
so tight, for so long. If looks could kill, Omar would be dead and interred
already.

They
had looked so cozy together laughing and chatting about everything American. Some
nonsense about In ‘n’ Out Burger versus Five Guys. Ribbing each other about the
pros and cons of California living and New York attitude. The high-fiving and
fist bumps!

Ya
Allah! He could have gladly brained this guy.

But
he had loved hearing stories of how a tomboy Zoya had tackled schoolyard
bullies to save dear little chubby Omi, and how she had even dangled from the
meanest, baddest bully’s hair, to get him to stop tormenting another lost soul.
That bully had now grown up to be an NYPD cop, and still nursed a crush on the
spitfire who had nearly scalped him in fifth grade.

He
had never seen Zoya laugh so much. How come she never laughed like that with
him? No wait, she had laughed like that with him, but just once—-

He was from America. She was from America. May be they would be good for each other?

NO!

He knocked the books off the console table in fury and frustration.

Back
in her room, Zoya meanwhile was on the phone with Omar. She loved meeting him, but wanted to be very clear that she was not getting married any time soon.

“Because
you are in love with that hulking pit bull of yours?” He asked.

“Whoa!
What pit bull, and how do you—-?”

“Oh,
please! Any idiot can tell that the two of you have the hots for each other.
Why you aren’t together I don’t know. And what’s the deal with that girl with
him?”

“She’s
his fiancée and there’s nothing between us, so just shut up!”

“Nothing
between you? Stop kidding yourself. He looked like he was imagining fifty
different ways of killing me slowly with his bare hands,” Omar chuckled, highly amused.

“But
seriously, there’s some deep stuff going on, and you better resolve it before
you both make the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Shut
up Omar, and mind your own beeswax! You show up not even for five hours and
Bam! You're my relationship counselor?” She barked.

“Whatever.
His sister though is quite the charmer. Her I could be interested in.”

“Watch
it. Her brother will really kill you then. For how long are you in town?”

“Two
more days, and then I have go to Mumbai. Bye Zoey, I’ll tell khala that we just
didn’t click. But dude, don’t mess this up. Put him in one of your famous
headlocks and don’t let him go till he squeaks.”

Zoya
laughed at that image while she hung up. Imagine her doing that to Jahanpanah! Jahanpanah six packs!

He
would kill her.

But
may be she just needed to hang on for dear life, and he would eventually hug her
tight and dip his head to kiss her senseless. She
sighed with longing, and kicked the footstool violently.

Suddenly
she heard a muffled crash, and ran out. Everything looked fine in the kitchen and the
living room. Instinctively she knew that Mr. Khan had thrown a fit yet again. Grabbing
the first aid box, she knocked softly on his door, and opened it before he could
respond.

It
was déjà vu all over again.

He
looked up at her, his eyes pleading. She examined his hands. It was the other
one this time.

“Allah
miyan! Seriously Mr. Khan, why do you even keep breakable things in your room, if all you do is smash them to pieces in one of your temper tantrums?”

She
went to the restroom to wet the cotton ball and applied it to his cut while
gently blowing on it. He watched her face as she dressed the cut. Her lips as
she blew on his wound, were so kissable. One tug, and he could feast on them and
never let her go. His other hand almost moved to tuck her hair behind her ear.
Fisting it, he moved it behind his back.

He
cleared his throat. “Thank you Ms. Farooqui, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s
just a minor cut,” he whispered harshly. “Please, just go back to your room.”

“You’re
welcome Mr. Khan. Always such a gentleman,” she scoffed, and turned to go, but
was grabbed roughly from behind. He turned her to face him.

“Yes,
I am a gentleman! If I hadn’t been, I would have punched someone tonight.” He
shut his eyes in embarrassment. God, how dumb did that sound?

Her
eyes went wide as she stared at him. So Omar was right.

She
felt a bubble of hope bloom in her chest. She brutally squashed it.

“Oh
really?” She decided to goad him. “Jealous
Mr Khan?”

“Ms.
Farooqui, don’t be ridiculous, please go to bed,” he ground out, pressing his uninjured hand to his forehead.

“Why
don’t you just admit it Mr. Khan?” She whispered, her voice dangerously close
to breaking. “You want me, but think that I’m not good enough for you. Do you like me against your better judgement? If you
think I am so irresponsible and insensitive then why do you even care?”

Tears
spilled from her eyes. “I’m good enough to punch someone for, but not to spend
the rest of your life with, isn’t that right? I'm a misfit and not worthy to
be your wife, or Phuphi’s bahu or the mother of your kids!” She hurled the
first aid box at his back and ran out sobbing.

“Zoya!
Please don’t—-” He called out in a strangled voice to her retreating back. Hating
himself, he slammed his bandaged hand on the console.

Tanu
was not a happy camper. She was bristling at Khala’s suspicions and recent blocking
of her maneuvers. She hadn’t taken her tenacity and hyper motherly instincts
into account.

Then
there was Asad’s rude and aloof behavior during the entire trip. She had hoped
that a guilt-ridden Jammy would be more attentive to her. But he just seemed resentful, and was
behaving like a sulky child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

And
now? That coffee date yesterday had been a total disaster.

Here
she had thought that Zoya would finally be out of her hair, but then Jammy had
to go and act like a pissed off gorilla in heat. Each
smile and laugh of Zoya’s had made him clench and unclench his fists. He
had nearly bitten off the waiter’s head and almost crushed the wine glass in
his bare hands. He sat, arms crossed stiffly across his chest, scowling at the other
two, and didn’t even say a word to her. Not a single word or glance!

She
would have to make alternate plans. And soon.

Tanu
decided to play her cards first, by announcing the next morning that she would
like to better get to know Jammy’s other siblings. Could they all go
for dinner so that she could also meet her two other future sisters-in-law? She
hoped that by involving more of the family, Asad would lower his guard, and it
would become harder for Khala to break off the engagement. The
added bonus would be that Tanu would get a break from Khala’s current hawk-like
scrutiny. She
was being a bit too observant for her own good.

Before
Dilshad or Asad could shoot this idea down, Najma squealed with delight
about how much fun it would be for all the siblings to get together.

She looked
approvingly at Tanu, "such a great idea! Why didn’t I think of it?”
She gushed.

“This
way even Zoya can meet Nikhat and Nuzzhat and we can all get to know one
another better. It was such fun with Ayaan bhaijaan during the trip, right
Zoya? Please can we go to the new Thai restaurant, please, please Bhaijaan?”

Asad
nodded. A part of him felt elated at Najma's warmth and affection for Zoya. He noticed that Najma was happier at the prospect of Zoya meeting their sisters, instead of Tanu.

“It would be a good idea, but I don’t know if their parents will let
them meet us,” he said stiffly.

Although he had taken a step toward reconciling with his father, he still hesitated to go the complete distance. But this
was all the encouragement that Najma needed.

Asad shrugged and got ready to go to work, avoiding looking at Zoya. “Let me
know, then I can make reservations.”

He too wished that he were introducing Zoya formally to his sisters, not Tanveer. He desperately wanted Ammi's suspicions to be right. But so far, they hadn't been able to do much. They hadn't yet heard from the investigator. His life was hanging in the balance. And he was running out of time. Her Aapi's rush to get Zoya married had shaken him to the core. Knowing Zoya, she would run away at the slightest whiff of an arranged nikaah. But even more than that, he could no longer bear to look at her red-rimmed eyes or her desperately knotted hands. The kohl in her eyes had begun to get darker and thicker. She wasn't fooling him. He knew that she was overdoing the make-up to hide the ravages of daily tears and smudges under her eyes. But it was the bruises he had begun to notice on her knuckles that completely undid him. When he'd first seen the small crescent welts on her hands he'd been puzzled. But then he'd seen her digging her nails in and realized what they meant. This morning those bruises seemed to be covered by bite marks, and he had nearly grabbed her hands in anguish; he longed to hold her to him.

Please don't hurt yourself. I'm not worth it. But he also knew that she wasn't the kind to suffer in quiet. She was fiercely independent, a wave upon the sand that ceaselessly ebbed out of reach. A blink, and she'd be gone.

Asad brooded as he slipped into his suit jacket.

“And
Ammi,” Najma continued. “When are you going to start making arrangements for
the sagaai?”

She didn’t notice the sudden drop in the temperature in the
room. Tanu could have hugged the little
brat.

Zoya
didn’t want to raise her eyes for fear that she would fall apart. She focused
on holding her knife and fork over the plate as straight as possible as she blinked
to stop the tears. Do NOT make a fool of yourself, she scolded herself.

As
soon as the words exited Tamatar’s mouth Asad had glanced up at Zoya
and seen her eyelids redden and lips turn white.

“Tamatar,
why don’t you call Ayaan right now. It’ll be hard to get a hold of him later.”

Before
dashing off to contact Ayaan, Najma called out over her shoulder, “Zoya, may be
you can invite Omar?”

She
didn’t see the scowl settle on Asad’s face.

Great!
Just bloody great.

“Okay.
I’m meeting him for lunch at that new mall. I’ll ask him if he can join us,”
said Zoya, her gaze still lowered.

She didn’t miss Mr. Khan slamming the door a
bit more violently than usual on his way out.

Good,
she thought. Serves you right.

But
then she looked up and saw Tanu. She dug the fork end into her thumb.

At
Tanu’s suggestion of a family get-together, Zoya had felt a tremor of hope shudder through her. At
least she could lose her despair in a big group and she’d get more time with
Omar before he left for Mumbai. And
then Raabert would be there too. It
would be fun to meet Mr. Khan’s other sisters too. She had always wondered what
it would be like to have so many siblings. It must be such fun she mused: secrets
and clothes to share, fights and alliances, and lots of talking and giggling late
into the night.

Thinking
of sleepovers and late nights, her mind automatically swerved to that fateful
sleepover the first night in this house, when she had inadvertently mistaken
his room and bed as hers. She
had been fast asleep and then found herself flying through the air and landing
hard on the floor thanks to his freakishly quick reflexes.

She
had been sore for days afterwards.

And
Mr. Khan hadn’t stopped pulling the rug from under her since then, she thought
with a pang.

How
many times had she imagined that scene being a lot different? He would have
pinned her on her back with his rock hard body. Her eyes would have snapped
open in alarm, and then drooped with desire as they continued to gaze into each
other’s eyes. He would have slowly and deliberately laced his fingers through
hers over her head and kissed her neck, his lips slowly moving up her chin to
her lips.

He
would have kneed her legs apart and settled between her thighs still kissing
her senseless. The sounds of their sighs and moans would have filled the room
as their bodies moved against each other more urgently.

She
nearly moaned out aloud.

Even
dreaming of it right now in the middle of the living room, made her insides
clench and tighten, and desire nip her in the gut.

“Stop
it,” she scolded herself, “he can go to hell for all I care,” and she fled to
the privacy of her room.

But
in her heart she knew that her cursing him out was just a pathetic ruse to
block out the real pain: Tanveer would be a member of the family that Zoya had
wanted to be a part of so badly. So many sisters, a brother, an Ammi like
Dilshad, and an Abbu like Dost. All her
life she had yearned for this. And the love of a man like Mr. Khan.

It was time
to lock herself in the bathroom and stuff her knuckles in her mouth again.

By
noon he had concocted a foolproof plan to get clearance from the elders in the family.

He
first told dadi about bhaijaan’s upcoming engagement and convinced
her to help him with his plans. While
saddened by not being able to share in her first grandchild’s big moment and joy,
she was pleased that at least the children kept in touch, and were eager to get
together and share in each other’s joys.

The
older generation could learn a thing or two from them.

She
was already planning which earrings of hers she would give as a saugat to her
oldest grand daughter-in-law.

Dadi
talked to Shireen. “Now that Nikhat and Imran are engaged, it would be a good
idea for Imran to get to know his sister- and brother-in-law better. Why not
send the children out for dinner so that they can all get to know one another.”

Shireen
though it was a great idea.

Dadi
delegated her to approach Siddiqui saheb with this suggestion.

After
much fuss and coaxing from Razia, who never passed up an opportunity to push Humaira
and Ayaan together, it was decided that Ayaan and Imran would take the three
girls out for dinner and that they would all return home by 10 O’clock sharp.
Details of the venue were demanded with repeated reprimands for the children to
carry their phones and leave the restaurant’s number at home. Ayaan
mentally rolled his eyes but he was thrilled that he would get to spend more
time with bhai and Najma and especially Mona darling. His
sisters and Humaira were already jealous of his Ajmer-Jaipur-Agra trip and had
noticed a new spring in his step lately. He
strummed his guitar more, and was trying to learn some old songs.

Imran
was told the real reason for the outing, and was asked to cross his heart and
swear that he would never let anyone know about who they were really meeting at
the restaurant. Ayaan
had decided that if anyone did find out about this clandestine meeting, he
would pass it off as them just happening to run into his brother and family.

He rubbed his hands in glee. He was awesome. Ayaan raised his collar and brushed the tip of his nose with a definite flair and flourish.

He
called Asad at work to give him the all-clear.

“Ho
gaya! But we have to be back home by 10. Can you believe that? I’ll be able to
squeeze another half hour or so,” he promised smugly.

“But
bhai, what a genius idea! Zaroor Mona darling ka hi hoga haina? Just like the
road trip was her idea too. Bahut maza aya tha. We should definitely do
something like this again. By the way, Dadi wants us to bring a gift from her
to your fiancée, so remind me when we get there. I might forget.” He returned
with full gusto to the previous subject.

“Kya
Bhaijaan, kahan chhupa ke rakha tha aapne Mona ko? For so long I had been
asking you to introduce me to your guest. And you kept putting me off by calling
her your musibat and what not.”

He
nattered on, not paying any attention to the bristling silence at the other end.

“If
I had met her even sooner—-”

“Ayaan!”
Hollered a seething Asad.

“Bakwas
ki baatein mat karo! I have a lot of work to do before we meet. As it is,
because of our dinner plans I’ll have to leave work early. I’m hanging up now.”

“Par
bhai—-”

Asad
pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighed hopelessly. It hadn’t
escaped his notice how both Najma and Ayaan loved Zoya. His stupid
misconception that she wouldn’t be suitable for his family had become a
recurring taunt that played in his head on an endless loop.

To endure another
get-together from hell.

More
torture to see her laugh and chat with someone who was just as fun-loving as herself.
Najma’s
words about how she and Ayaan would make a perfect couple were still giving him
ulcers. Could
Ayaan really be romantically interested in Zoya? Why
was she even in love with Akdu Ahmed Khan who had only grief to offer?

But
Ayaan? How could he want to punch his own brother?

Incredibly
foolish!

He
called Prasad and gruffly told him to expedite the investigation. “I don’t care
how much extra he charges. Send someone to Kanpur. Just do it, dammit! I want
results.”

He
called Dilshad next. “Ammi, we are meeting everybody for dinner tonight. Humein
ghar aate aaate 10:30 ya 10:45 ho jayega. Can you do something while we are
gone?”

“Haan
Asad, bolo.”

“Ammi,
I know this is going to sound terrible, but while we are gone, can you check
through Tanu’s things carefully for any clue that we may be able to use to
discredit her claims?”

“Accha
hua tumne keh diya. I was thinking of doing the same.”

“Take
pictures of anything suspicious Ammi. And call Prasad if you need anything. I
want to end this soon.”

Asad
had made the reservations for 7 o’clock so that they would have enough time to
talk and enjoy a leisurely meal. Ammi would have enough time to do a thorough
look around.

He
sighed heavily. The same thoughts circled like buzzards in his head. Omi, the
bloody Zamboni would be there. Check.

Sit
through the Mona Darling and Raabert banter. Check.

And
to add insult to injury, Tanu would be introduced as his fiancée, and Zoya as
their guest, while he stewed in jealous and silent misery. Check.

Damn!

Not
that he would ever know, but for Zoya this would be much harder. He could enjoy
the luxury of scowling and brooding in silence, and no one would think twice
about his behavior. But Zoya was known by Omar, Najma and Raabert to be the
life of the party. Her silence would be a dead giveaway.

After
her crying jag, she decided to do some yoga and a lot of deep-breathing meditation to calm and center
herself.

She
would need all her strength reserves today, and if it didn’t kill her, she’d be
even stronger tomorrow—gee thanks, Nietzsche miyan.

At
6:30, everyone gathered in the living room to leave for the restaurant. Najma
was admiring Tanu and complimented her on her exquisitely embroidered anarkali.

“Ooh what a great bag, Tanveer. Is it new?”

Tanu
was thrilled with all the attention, and hoped that Asad would notice too. She was
perfumed and coiffed to the nines. Good, that Ms. New York was in her usual jeans.

No
competition tonight.

When
Asad came out of his room, Najma eagerly pointed out how nice Tanveer looked. He
complimented her politely and greeted Omar stiffly.

How
or when it was decided that Zoya would ride with Omar on his bike, and Najma
and Tanveer would come with Asad he never knew.

Zombie
had a bike? Where—-! What the hell?

He
was shell-shocked at the speed with which Najma had taken over the planning of
the whole evening.

Dilshad
hid her smile. Love and heartache had made him putty in his baby sister’s hands.
Najma
yammered on about how much fun it would be and how lucky Zoya was. How she
wished she could go on a bike ride too.

Could
she may be, get a ride on the way back?

Tanu
spoke up on a still-dazed Asad’s behalf, and firmly told Najma, no.

Najma
pouted, but was soon diverted by Omar asking her about her plans for the summer.
He promised her a bike ride around the neighborhood later, if her mother and
brother permitted. Tanu
sought Asad’s approval in handling Najma, but he was preoccupied.

As
usual.

But
thank god! At least she wouldn’t have to sit through any more of his rear-view
mirror gazing.

Asad
meanwhile turned to glower at Zoya, and his breath caught. She
wore her signature jeans which she had topped with an elegant white kurti with
zari work on the collar and cuffs. He had thought that she looked good in red and
pink. She was ethereal tonight in white, and minimal make-up and accessories.

Her
bitter words and sobs from last night still slashed his soul.

He
hadn’t slept a wink.

He
had yearned to go to her room and gather her in his arms to tell her that she
was the most perfect and precious thing in this whole world, and that he was unworthy of her.

Zoya
too stole a glance at Jahanpanah under her lashes. Her heart stopped seeing
him in a grey suit with a white shirt and no tie. While
he looked good in anything, even a towel (she mentally slapped herself), seeing
him in a suit always made her knees go weak and heart race. He looked good
enough to eat.

She
shook her head and finger-combed her hair to hide her blush. God, she better
stop fantasizing about him. One of her worst fears was that one night she’d cry
out his name in her sleep, and everyone would hear her.

“Zoya,
I love your heels!” Exclaimed Najma suddenly, just as they were leaving. Everyone’s eyes
traveled to her feet. Impishly,
Zoya stuck out her foot and lifted the pant leg, exposing a slender ankle
wrapped in the thinnest silver anklet. She wore strappy silver slingbacks
studded with crystals that perfectly set off her toenails, which were painted
hot pink.

Asad
couldn’t take his eyes off those toes. They looked adorable enough to suck. If he
ever did manage to get her in his bed, he would beg her to only wear those
heels. He would hold her by her ankles, bite and lick them while gazing
intently into her eyes, and pound into her till kingdom come.

Swearing
under his breath he stalked off to his room, trying, but failing miserably, to
control his breathing. He
took deep breaths thinking that he’d explain his abrupt departure by saying
that he’d forgotten his keys. When
he stepped out, the living room was empty.

Good.
Bullet dodged.

Striding
toward the main door he heard a door open and shut. He turned to see Zoya
rushing out at full speed. She was carelessly stuffing her phone in her bag,
and as usual wasn’t looking where she was going.

He
grabbed her wrist to break her momentum and she crashed into his chest.

“Ms.
Farooqui—-!”

She
struggled to break his hold on her wrist.

Something
snapped in him. He couldn’t let go.

“Mr.
Khan,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “Please let me go.”

“So
that you can go ride with your precious Omi the Bimboni?” He sneered, not
realizing that he was slowly stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

Oh
god, did he even know what he was doing to her?

“It’s
Omar, and aapko iss se kya?” She lashed out at him trying to free her hand. His
grip tightened.

Damn,
he smelled good.

C’mon
Zoya Farooqui, get angry or you’ll melt into a messy puddle right here.

She
continued to struggle and he continued to thwart her attempts at digging her
nails into his fingers to make him release her.

Her
fury could not be dammed any more. It was real now. She wanted to stomp all
over him.

“What
is this, Mr. Khan?” She moved her face closer to his. His eyes widened and he
held his breath. “Some kind of an admission that you have a thing for me? Will you
kiss me now?”

His
body leaped in response and desire made him taut.

“You
think you can officially get married to Tanveer, and keep me on the side for booty
calls? Will you become your father’s son after all?”

“ZOYAAA!”
He thundered and flung her wrist away nearly making her spin and lose her
balance.

“Chillayiye
mat mujhh par! I am badtameez in your eyes, so different from you and your tehzeeb
or lihaz right? That is why you say hurtful things, but then you give me these
mixed messages. Make up your damn mind!” She dashed the gathering moisture from her eyes.

He
almost smiled. He loved the sight of her spitting nails and breathing fire! She didn't
even realize how s*exy she looked. And now that she'd mentioned it, he just
wanted to grab and shut her up by covering those lips with his. His eyes fixed
on her lips and his head bent an inch as if drawn by a magnet. One touch, a
bite, and he’d thrust his tongue in when she parted her lips and have her brand
him forever.

“No!
Zoya, please don’t—-!” His s*exual haze dissolved to be replaced with anguish; he tried to hold her by her forearms to stall her self-flagellation. He
didn’t mind the sting of her words against him, but he hated that she was
cutting herself to the quick.

Her eyes blazed. She violently jerked his hands off
and held up a hand to shut him up.

“Meri baat abhi khatm nahin hui hai!”

She
was beginning to run out of steam, and given another second, she would start
weeping.

But
she had to have the final word.

“You
know aapki problem kya hai? You don’t think that what we could have had is
worth fighting for. You don’t have the guts to
fight for a love that Allah gives only once in a lifetime. You use your seventeenth-century
Jahanpanah-mode ideas as an excuse to hide behind, because you are scared of
being happy; because you feel that you deserve to be miserable.”

“Ms. Farooqui,” he growled softly. He crossed
his arms across his chest and looked at her patiently. “Are you done?”

“Don’t! Just bloody don’t! I’m a strong girl and will
get over even this, because you,” and she stabbed his chest over his folded
arms with her finger repeatedly, “are not worth it!”

She ran out of the front door.

Oh lord help him, she was gorgeous!

Only she could speak to him like that
and diagnose everything that was wrong with him in a second.

“Tabhi aap itne badtameez hain!” In a flash he
remembered their first meeting and the first of many fights.

Ayaan
hugged Najma and then bent to give Zoya a quick side hug, while loudly greeting
her: “Mona Darling! I missed you!”

She
laughed up at him, and tried to disengage herself by playfully elbowing him.

“Hi
Raabert! I didn’t miss you at all!”

Nuzzhat
and Nikhat couldn’t believe their eyes. Who was this girl in western clothing
that Asad bhaijaan had brought, and who Ayaan bhaijaan was so friendly with?

They
sneaked a peek at Asad and saw him frowning. They sensed some undercurrents
there, but dismissed it thinking that Bhaijaan didn’t approve of girls wearing
jeans.

But
who was she?

Little
did they know why their bhaijaan was looking so grim. On reaching the hotel
entrance he had seen them come in on that wretched bike.

He
felt punched in the gut.

Zoya
was in the front actually riding the bike! Omar had his arms around her, his
hands on the handle bar too. Their bodies touched shoulder to thigh. They both
laughed as she shook off the helmet. In
blind fury, Asad had marched up to rage and rail at them, just barely having recovered from
the near-heart attack.

“Ms.
Farooqui! How can you be so reckless?”

He
savagely turned on Omar, “How could you let her ride? What if she’d had an
accident?”

Omar
had held up his hands defensively, “hey buddy, you try saying no to her!”

At
that, Asad had looked guiltily at Zoya’s crestfallen face.

He
knew exactly what she was thinking.

“He
already did.”

When
he looked back at her a few minutes later, he saw her head bent, hair
curtaining her face, and shoulders stooped. Omar had his arm protectively
around her and was leaning toward her as if trying to comfort her. She had been
momentarily happy, and he had stomped all over that too like a rampaging
elephant in musth! He
should be hanging his head in shame, he chided himself. C’mon Zoya, stay mad at
me, he silently urged her. Please!

Meanwhile,
Humaira’s heart sank as she laid eyes on the kind of girl she knew Ayaan always
liked. She noticed with dismay how his gaze lingered on her, and how he eagerly
jumped to sit next to her at the table.

In
all of this, no one noticed the pall that had fallen on Tanu’s face at the
sight of Imran. He too had paled when being introduced to Asad’s future
fiancée.

Soon
everyone was seated at the large round table set away from the main dining room
providing more privacy for bigger parties. Nuzzhat
wanted to know everything about America, and both Zoya and Omar filled her in. Whenever
Zoya flagged, Omar picked up the conversation thread. They painted such a fun
picture, that she wanted to go right away. Ayaan self-importantly promised her
that he would take her there one day.

Omar
was pissed at Asad and glared at him for the stunt he had just pulled in the parking
lot. Zo had only just begun to smile after leaving home. He knew something had
happened before they left. He had a good mind to rake him over hot coals for
being a complete jerk to Zoya.

But
when he looked at Asad again, he noticed pain etched across his face.

He
shook his head in disbelief.

What
was wrong with these two? What was the hold up?

May
be, he needed to push Zo’s Mr. Khan over the edge.

May
be just a tad.

He
looked up and noticed Ayaan looking at him funny.

He
chuckled to himself. Whoda thunk it.

Zo
sure had made many conquests here.

He
covered Zoya’s hand with his, and deliberately leaned in intimately. From the
corner of his eye he noticed Asad nearly shoot out of his chair.

Good.
Eat your heart out buddy.

Nuzzhat
just had to know how Ayaan knew Zoya so well, so he and Najma (who, by now, was
an expert on the topic as well), regaled everyone with the story of their
conspiracy against Bhaijaan. They competed with each other on reporting how Bhaijaan would get so annoyed, and
call her a musibat and gairzimmedaar because she would always argue with him
and challenge his decisions.

Zoya’s
heart constricted at those words and broke into a million pieces as she ducked
her head and tried to bite her lips to keep them from quivering.

"Mujhe uss din ka intezaar hai ki kab aap meri zindagi se ruksat hongi," he'd said in Mangalpur. He was right. She was a musibat. She wanted to run out and keep running. Only gripping the table's edge and letting its sharp side dig into her palms was keeping her here. Once again she'd made a royal fool of herself in front of him at home. Why couldn't she just shut her stupid mouth? Each time she opened it, she blurted out her heart.

Asad was sitting directly opposite her. His heart slammed against his chest as
he felt helpless seeing the spark in her eyes dim.

Again.

For a second, her alarmed gaze had skittered to him, and her widening eyes had pooled with anguish. She was biting her lips now. They'd be swollen soon. He groaned. He wanted to rub his thumb over them and cradle her head in his arms. He saw Omar's hand tighten on hers and Zoya turned to him gratefully. He couldn't take his eyes off their clasped hands. It burned a hole in his hollow chest. He should be holding her hand! He would lift it to his lips and kiss it. He's go down on his knees and slip a ring on her finger promising to do right by her forever. Asad squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He could only flex his arm and clench his fist in frustration. She shouldn’t have to sit through a recounting of how, for months, he
had viewed her so negatively and been so vocally critical of her. It was wrong. If
she only knew what he thought and felt about her now.

But
how could she? The only side of his he had ever shown her was that of a prickly
and judgmental ass.

He
quickly distracted Ayaan by mentioning Mukka Ahmed Khan, and whether he wanted
an action replay of the Operation Pyaasi Atma climax.

Everyone
laughed.

Ayaan
held his ears.

Omar
wanted to know what Pyaasi Atma was all about so Najma filled him in shyly.

He
looked at Zoya in amazement, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“Seriously?
The more things change the more they remain the same, right Zo?” She laughed up
at him.

Thank
god, Omar was here.

With
his other hand he covered hers and squeezed it comfortingly. He let his hand
linger on hers.

Across
the table, a water goblet tipped over.

The
drinks and appetizers soon arrived, and the dinner order was being placed. Zoya
overheard Asad’s order and panicked.

He
probably had no idea about Thai food.

She
cleared her throat and looked at the server. “Doesn’t that have peanuts?” Asad
caught on, and quickly told the server about his allergy. The waiter assured him
that he would tell the chef and that they would take the utmost care with his
order.

Asad
stewed. He was such a fool. How could he have forgotten something so important?
She had remembered even though he had bitten her head off and made her cry the
last time when he thought she had deliberately fed him peanuts to keep him from
testifying against his father.

What
was she made of? He had just yelled at her. And here she was already looking
out for him. How was he ever going to be able to make up for everything he had
done to hurt her?

Tanu
felt like choking Zoya. Why couldn’t she have thought of that? She felt like
kicking herself. One more reason for him to behave like a lovesick puppy now,
she fumed.

She
needed to salvage the situation quickly.

Placing
her hand possessively on his arm, she exclaimed, “thank goodness for Zoya!
Jammy, you have to be more careful about your health. Zoya won’t always be here
to remind you each time. She’ll be leaving pretty soon. Though she must have
remembered how it was her food that led to your last allergy attack. That was
the most severe attack you’ve had, right?”

He
hated Tanu right then, and moved his arm out of her grasping claws.

He
looked at Zoya and saw her hide behind the leather-bound menu card.

He
felt anger bubble up inside him.

“No, it wasn’t Ms. Farooqui’s fault then, because she didn’t know about my allergies.
In fact, her quick thinking saved my life that day. And apparently today too. I should have remembered, it was really
careless of me.”

Omar
raised his eyebrows and silently approved.

Now
that’s what I’m talking about, Mr. Khan!

Tanu
fumed. This was not going well at all. First, to have to sit at the same table
as Imran, and now Jammy becoming Zoya’s gushing cheerleader.

Still,
all was not lost.

She
began to imperially question Nikhat and Nuzzhat about what they were doing in
college.

Nikhat
replied in hushed tones.

The
men talked stiltedly about sports and politics.

Zoya
couldn’t believe her ears. Jahanpanah had actually stood up for her in front of
everyone! She
wanted to do her happy dance. She
looked up to see him watching her anxiously, and beamed her full dimpled smile
at him.

His
ears reddened.

Looking
away, she noticed that Humaira seemed lost and heartsick. She asked Ayaan to
switch places with her so that she could be next to Humaira.

After
settling down, she asked her how she'd done in the fashion show.

“How
do you know?” asked Humaira in bewilderment.

“I
was there. Don’t you remember how nervous you were?”

“You
were the one in the burqa who gave me the confidence to go up on stage!”
exclaimed an excited and grateful Humaira.

Zoya
blushed. “I didn’t do anything. It was all you. You looked beautiful by the
way. And the idiot who didn’t see that isn’t worthy of you,” she said making a
face at Ayaan who was talking to Omar.

Omar
saw her looking his way and winked at her impishly. She narrowed her eyes at
him playfully. She looked across at Mr. Khan and saw that he was openly staring
at her. Not with anger or guilt or even jealousy, but something else entirely
in his eyes.

She
dragged her eyes away.

Humaira went on sadly, “I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s not me at all. I
prefer to dress more simply. But Ayaan seems to like girls who dress smartly
like you.”

Zoya
sensed a kindred spirit and her heart went out to this young girl smarting from
being neglected by the one she obviously loved. Here was someone feeling
exactly the same as her: inadequate and lacking, and unable to be the kind of
girl that the men they had fallen in love with, liked.

Damn
those Khan brothers!

She
held Humaira’s hand under the table and when she looked up, she said softly,
“isn’t it funny? The person I ... I like, doesn’t really like that I dress this
way. Nor does he approve of what I do or think, for that matter. But I’ve only
just begun to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

She
squeezed Humaira’s hand, “and you know what helps? Getting mad!”

They
both smiled at one another with watery eyes. Zoya picked up her Diet Coke and
saluted her sister in arms with it.

Humaira
laughed and picked up her Orange juice and did the same.

They
clinked their glasses and took a sip to toast their strength.

Zoya
began to ask her about her classes. Nuzzhat joined in too, and somehow she and
Humaira were talking of the episode in college when Zoya had entangled with
some eve teasers who were bothering Najma.

They
didn’t realize that the conversation around them had come to a stand still.

Humaira
was on a roll and spoke with admiration, “but you were so brave that day! We
heard how you saved Najma from those goons and how the principal mistakenly had
you arrested. In fact we organized a rally the next day to protest against it
and demand those boys’ suspension.”

She
didn’t realize that everyone was staring at them.

“That
was you?” exclaimed Ayaan gleefully. “Mona Darling that was so awesome! You are
such a Jhansi ki Rani.”

“Jail!”
croaked Omar in splits. “Too much! Apun ki Buffy the Vampire Slayer! How many
did you send to the hospital?”

He
dodged the napkin she lobbed at him, nearly wheezing with laughter now. “But that was badass! You're awesome, you know that? I love you!”

There,
that should light a fire under the jackass’ butt.

Zoya
guiltily looked up at Mr. Khan. What the hell was Omar up to? And oh my god,
Mr. Khan would go apesh*it over this jail story!

She
and Najma had decided not to tell him of Najma’s involvement in that incident
when he had bailed her out of jail with barely repressed anger. She
saw him grip the knife on the table and noticed that his knuckes were white. Her
heart plummeted. Was he thinking the same things he'd said to her that day? Because if he said another angry word to her she would probably burst into a million tears right here and make a complete ass of herself. He stared at the plate in front of him, not meeting her glance
or looking at Najma. Both
she and Najma were terrified that Asad would explode in anger at hearing this recap.

But
he remained silent.

Nuzzhat
and Ayaan gushed on about how the whole college had admired the courage of a girl
who had dared to stop those hooligans, when they were the ones who should have
been jailed.

Everyone
wanted to know what had happened afterwards.

Zoya
and Najma looked at each other in alarm remembering Mr. Khan’s volatile temper
and harsh words.

Najma
tried to make light of the whole thing by comically telling them that Bhaijaan
was really mad and how she and Ammi were terrified, she rolled her eyes and
clutched her heart dramatically, but how even then, Zoya wouldn’t back down as she had demanded that he apologize to her for being rude.

Everyone
raised their eyebrows admiringly at Zoya’s spunk. One did not go up against
Asad Ahmed Khan and live to tell about it.

Omar
did an exaggerated slow clap, “good girl!” He even got up and stood behind
her chair to hug her tightly. He looked at Asad, issuing him a direct challenge
by kissing the top of her head.

If
this doesn’t do it, then that tight-assed moron doesn’t deserve her.

Najma
went on to tell them, rubbing her hands with glee, how Zoya got her revenge. When
Bhaijaan refused to apologize, Zoya tampered with his phone and added a voice
password so that each time he took a call, he had to say, “I am sorry Zoya,” to
unlock his phone.

Everyone
roared with laughter.

Omar
slapped his palm on the table with glee. “That’s my girl!”

Zoya
breathed a sigh a of relief and smiled slightly, even laughing when Ayaan
turned toward her and bowed waving both his hands in front of him in her honor.

Asad
felt his world tilt. She had not just saved Najma from gundas that day, but
also silently borne his apoplectic lashing out against her without uttering a single
word to implicate his sister?

It
was something he would have done for Ayaan or his sisters.

He
stole a look at her and nearly wept to see her laughing with Omar, Ayaan and
Humaira. That
was the day that he had nearly blurted out, “main aap jaisi ladki se nafrat
karta hoon.”

He
had been so furious at her, that he had yelled at her about her being a negative
influence on Najma. He had raged against her lack of a decent upbringing and
how her parents must have been too busy to teach her any manners or, raise her
right.

He
deserved to say “I’m sorry Zoya,” a million times, to her face, for the rest of
his life.

Asad noticed that she had left the table to go to the restroom. Excusing himself to
make an urgent phone call, he decided to follow her. He didn’t care how it
looked, or whether anyone would wonder at their absence.

The sense of urgency to talk to her, to plead with her, was overpowering. For days now, he had sweated bullets, worried that he'd wake up one day and find her gone. He slept too lightly, starting at the merest sound. Was that her, sneaking away from him forever? He kept a fearful watch, a daily vigil, because her independence scared him. If he didn't talk to her now, he'd lose her forever. If she still stayed on, it was only because she hadn't yet found a way to leave … him.

But she would leave.

Of that he was dead sure.

Even now, a part of him agonized that she had already left. Thanks to him, the multiple blows of this evening had to have had reached a tipping point for her. He swore under his breath and his hands fisted.

Asad saw her in the corridor. Thank god! He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a semi-darkened
room that seemed to be stocked with restaurant supplies. She was about to scream, but went still when she saw that it was him. Her eyes went wide with anxiety
and worry as he backed her against the wall and covered her mouth. Asad quickly
removed his hand but still held her.

“Miss
Farooqui, I am really sorry for behaving so rudely that day.” He whispered
through a choked throat.

“I had no idea that you were protecting Najma. I can never thank you enough for
being so brave. I was a total jerk for saying those awful things to you.”

Her
eyes began to fill up. She raised her hand to cover her trembling mouth as her
body was racked with sobs.

He
couldn’t bear to see her cry so brokenly. He gathered her in his arms and held
her as she cried. She struggled weakly to free herself but he wouldn't let go. Resting his chin on her head he kept murmuring into her hair,
“I’m sorry Zoya, I am so sorry baby. Please forgive me for every cruel word and act.”

And
she cried even harder.

Someone
tried to open the door from outside, but Asad blocked it with his shoulder still
holding her tightly and stroking her back while raining soft kisses on her head.
It killed him to hold her shuddering body in his arms knowing that he was
responsible for this.

When
she was done sobbing, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her while
he wiped her tears with his thumbs, and gently brushed her hair from her
forehead.

Her
tears still wouldn’t stop. Zoya continued to hold a knuckle to her mouth to control the tapering sobs.

So that's how she got those bite marks! He
involuntarily yanked her hand from her mouth and kissed each bruised knuckle softly. He swooped to suck her tears and kissed her face still whispering I’m sorry,
his own eyes damp.

How
and when her arms crept up his neck she didn’t know or care. She sought the warmth and comfort of his strong embrace and clung desperately to him. As she hugged him he
bent to kiss her gently on her mouth.

But
once their lips met there was nothing gentle about the all-consuming kiss that
jolted both of them to the core and made them fuse their bodies even closer.
Her fingers tugged his hair painfully as she stood on her toes to be devoured
by him.

She
wanted to punish him and surrender herself.

His
arms and lips crushed her to him.

As
she gasped for air he slid his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers and she
moaned in the back of her throat. They came up for air and Asad nuzzled her
neck. Her pulse was racing a mile a minute. And his hot breath on her neck made
her knees turn to water.

“Mr.
Khan—-?” Zoya whispered, shrinking away.

I don't want your pity … or charity. Please!

“Shh,”
he hushed her, capturing her lips with his again, this time sucking on her
lower lip erotically and molding her hips to his. He deepened the kiss and held
her face with both his hands. He would break contact and then swoop in again at
another angle before she could even regain her breath.

Molten
heat pooled between her legs as she instantly throbbed and swelled in response.
She ground against his hardness unconsciously. She dug her nails in, raking his
nape before biting his lip, and heard him suck in his breath.

Asad broke away and trailed kisses to her ear.

"Don't. Please don't." She wept, horrified at what had just happened. Zoya pushed herself away from him and pressed her fingers to her swollen lips, nearly doubling over with the pain.

"I'll go away. You'll never ha—-!"

“No!" He roared.

He closed the distance she'd forced between them and held her urgently by her forearms, "Don't ever leave me! I—- I
love you Zoya.”

Her
heart hammered. What? Did he even know what he was saying?

He
held her face gently with both his hands and gazed into her eyes, his own moist.
“I wanted to come tell you that night itself but ... but, something happened. I’ve
been such a fool. You were right. I’m not worthy of you,” he said ruefully.

He continued stroking her cheeks and lips with his thumbs, unable to keep his hands off her face. When not touching her face, his hand would re-tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Oh God! It killed me to see you in so much pain! I deserve to be flogged for everything I've said and done. Forgive me Zoya!"

Zoya's hand came up to cover his mouth. He hugged her tight, almost lifting her off her feet. When he set her down again, she smiled through her tears looking up at him, truly and deeply happy. For so long she had been the outsider looking in; now she was home.

No
questions or doubts remained.

"I promise you, I'll fix this, and no one will ever come between us again,” Asad vowed tenderly.

She
closed her eyes in prayer and whispered back, “I trust you Mr. Khan. I love you too.”

At
the simplicity of her confession, he lost all remaining control. Groaning, he folded her in his arms while grinding her into the wall, and kissed her till they were both
deliriously breathless.

After
many more overdue promises sealed with hundreds of kisses, he rested his forehead against
hers reluctantly, “now go back there and I’ll join you all in a minute. And
remember, I love you.”

He
watched her rearrange her clothes and hair, smiling as she used his
handkerchief to wipe away the tear streaks and errant lipstick stains on her
mouth first, and then his.

He
touched her swollen lips with his thumb and almost kissed her again. Zoya kissed
it though she wanted to bite his thumb and suck on it. She took out a small mirrored
case, and handed it to him to hold it up for her while she touched up her eyes
and lips. He looked on, smitten and mesmerized as she pressed and rubbed her
lips together for even coverage.

“Zoya—-!” he groaned, bewitched and insatiable.

She smiled, mischievously licking some of the lip gloss
off her lips.

He
let Zoya go ahead of him. But only after punishing her for teasing him so
wantonly.

As
she left, Asad grabbed her in a quick hug, “I’m really sorry for everything,” he
whispered. It was hard to see her walk away even when everything was all right between them. More than all right!

She pressed her hand to his lips to stop him for berating himself. He kissed her palm and
she blushed as she turned to leave.

He
tugged her hand again and twisted it behind her back, “and one more thing. The
next time you ride a bike, it’ll only be with me. I want you leaning into my back, your arms around me, and your thighs tightly gripping mine.”

“Jealous,
Mr. Khan?”

“Like
hell,” he growled in her ear sending shivers down her spine.

“But,”
she pouted and widened her eyes, “what if I want you holding me from the back
with your thighs pressing against mine?”

“Zoya!”
he sighed. He knew he was beat.

“Hmm?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,
what?”

“You
can ride it too, but Just. With. Me.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.

“Yay!”
But he silenced her again.

As
she stepped out, she saw Tanveer having a muffled but agitated conversation
with Nikhat’s fiance, Imran. She had an open file in her hands and was pointing
at something. She
ducked back into the storeroom and closed the door behind her.

Asad
looked up from stuffing his handkerchief in his pocket, and his eyes hooded with
desire.

“Mr.
Khan,” she whispered, tugging his arm. “Tanu seems to be having an argument
with Nikhat’s fiancé right outside.”

“What?
Let me check.”

He
poked his head out and saw the same thing. They both had their heads together
as they whispered furiously. It was clear that these two knew one another from
before.

He
stepped back in.

“Why
did they behave like strangers when everyone was first introduced?” Asad wondered
aloud, hands on his waist.

“It
looks really fishy. And they seem to be disagreeing about something. Neither
seems very happy,” added Zoya.

Their
eyes met and both saw hope and determination reflected in the other’s eyes.

He
sat her down on a box of linens, knelt in front of her, and told her every miserable detail of what happened that fateful night. He also told her of the
doctor confirming her pregnancy and Ammi’s suspicions.

Zoya
was furious. She jumped up and nearly charged out the door. He had to restrain
her by grabbing both her arms. Holding her by her forearms he again rested his
forehead against hers as he smiled down at her.

“Shant
meri Jhansi ki rani,” he spoke through suppressed laughter.

He
loved that she felt so protective of him. Where was this girl all his life? And
why didn’t he grab her the first day he saw her?

“We
have to be really careful about what we do next.”

“But
Mr. Khan, she obviously spiked your drink that night so that she could seduce
you. I will kill her!” Zoya squirmed and hissed.

“How
could you even believe that anything happened between the two of you? Do you
remember that night in the farmhouse? Nothing happened between us even though
we were clearly attracted to each other.”

Hands
on the wall on each side of her face Asad effectively trapped her by slowly moving
his lower body against hers and arched an eyebrow, “were attracted? The things
I wished I could do to you that night! Do you know how often I’ve kicked myself
for not acting on that attraction? And the times I’ve dreamt of what I would
have done?”

Allah Miyan! Where had this Mr. Khan been hiding?

She
blushed, but soldiered on trying not to be distracted by his amorousness, or her
own body’s heated response to his closeness, “you could never do anything as
revolting as she alleges.”

He
couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she loved him.

He
grabbed her roughly by her waist, dragged her against his hardness and running
his tongue along the curve of her ear, whispered, “not even with you?”

“Mr.
Khan! Behave!” But her body’s full-blown arousal was betraying her. Oh god she
was so ready, it would be so easy to give in. She was a hair’s breadth away
from grabbing his head and begging him to take her right here, right now. Whimpering,
she wrapped one leg around him. This was all the invitation he needed. He
cupped her bottom and lifted her up. She crossed her legs behind his back
squeezing him to her as she clenched her thighs.

Still
pinning her against the wall he played with her hair and trailed his knuckle
against her lips. Her lips! So long he had waited to touch them, trace their
outline with his fingertips, and then his tongue. He had imagined their plump softness
under his as he nipped and teased before sucking on them. He would never get
enough of those lips.

She
held his tormenting hand before he drove her completely insane and reluctantly
climbed down.

“And
now she’ll try to pass off her pregnancy on you,”

Zoya tried to regain her
temper and an upper hand. She stomped her foot but ended up kicking the box
which scattered all the tablecloths and napkins.

“How
dare she?” She struggled out of his grasp straining to get to the door.

Asad couldn’t resist this vision of outspoken passion and flaming attitude. With a
soft laugh he tugged her to him and kissed her. He snaked his tongue in and she
moaned. Still incensed at Tanu and frustrated with his tackles, she pushed
against his shoulders. They both tumbled onto the heap of gleaming white
linens as he dissolved the remainder of her feeble resistance with his mouth
and tongue. He slowly let his hand roam from her pert bre*asts to her butt, pinching it and
then grinding into her to let her know how aroused he was.

"Oh God Zoya! Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands off you!"

“Allah
miyan, what’s wrong with you Mr. Khan! Everybody must be wondering where we
are.” But even she knew that her feeble protests were just a token. She wanted
to push his shirt aside and run her hands over his chest and tight stomach.

He
raised his head, intoxicated and hungover.

Asad looked down on her flushed face and whispered, “You are so
beautiful. And hot as hell. Marry me.”

“Oh
really? Musibat magnet? Iss misfit se aap nikaah karenge?”

He
stroked her dimpled cheek tenderly and looked deep into her eyes, “haan, ab har
musibat qubool hai. And you aren’t a misfit. I was an idiot. You? You are
perfect just the way you are.”

“Told
you!” She pushed back against his shoulders, straddled him, and poked his chest.

He grabbed her stabbing finger and bit on it. She hissed and her thighs clenched around him.

“Ahem,”
he grinned devilishly as her hands roamed over and explored his chest and abs.
He grabbed her hand in one of his and drew her close while molding her butt
intimately to make her rub against his erection.

Bahon Mein Tere Maste Ke Ghere (By Dixiej) (Thanked: 294 times)

Zoya
blushed when Omar looked at her with a lop-sided grin and a raised eyebrow.

On
the way back home, Asad couldn’t resist looking at Zoya in the rear view
mirror. She caught him looking and smiled shyly but looked out of the window
for most of the ride.

At
the restaurant, Najma had kept begging Asad to allow her to ride back with Omar
since for some reason Zoya wasn’t going with him. Asad, gently but firmly, told
her that she could come home on Ayaan’s bike. It made no sense for Omar to come
back to their place. After all there was enough room in the SUV for all of
them.

Zoya
smiled.

Omar
however, was not to be dismissed so easily. He looked directly at Asad and
said, “Hey I’ll join you all, since the party is moving back home. I’m totally
free.”

“Umm,
Omar, I’ll ride in the car.” And she gave him a look. He grinned and shrugged.

“Okay,
I’ll see you all at the house in a few.”

And
that is how the cavalcade with a twin motorcycle escort proceeded to the Khan
Villa.

In
the parking lot, Asad had politely opened the passenger seat door for Tanu, and
then the back door for Zoya. As she raised her leg to get inside, he had
pinched her butt painfully. She exhaled and nearly giggled out loud. He had
thrust something in her hand and then closed the door after her. All the way
back home, her fingers had lovingly traced the outline of a velvet box. She
didn’t want to think of what could be inside.

Instead
she wanted to savor everything that had happened in a little room an hour ago.
She had closed her eyes and replayed his touch on her body, the feel of his
lips against hers and their hot grinding and friction that had set her nerves
aflame and brought her close to coming. Head thrown back in surrender she had
smelled her own arousal in that tiny space.

She
was wet again. For that matter, she had been wet all evening. Oh god, if Tanu
weren’t in the car she would have been in the passenger seat. She would have
boldly placed her hand on his thigh to feel his muscles bunch in anticipation.
She would have slowly moved her hand up and tried to unzip him.

He would hold
her hand tight to stop her.

She would lean closer to whisper in his ear,
“please.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Zoya—-!”

Nipping
his ear she’d purr, “Jahanpanah, you are all mine now.” Would he groan with
desire and press her hand to cup him?

“And
this kaneez will have her way with you,” she would tease huskily. He would
definitely leap against her hand, and she would laugh throatily.

She’d
thrust her tongue in his ear and lick and suck his ear lobe. He would have
groaned and his grip on her hand would loosen, passion fast overcoming his
reserve. She would unsheath him and he would gasp.

“So
tell me Mr. Khan,” she would have breathed against his mouth, snaking her
tongue out to lick the corner of his parted mouth while stroking his length.
Slowly rasping a fingernail up and down his pulsating ridge and running her
thumb over his wet tip, she would finally push him over the edge, “uhmm, do you
want me to swallow?”

“Zoyaaa!”
He would growl and hiss through gritted teeth hotly, taut with desire, and she
would go down on him.

He
better have good control over the car when she did do this for real, she
thought through her haze.

She
stirred restlessly and looked up to see him staring at her in the rear-view
mirror. She blushed. If he just saw what was on her mind he would probably
run and hide in his room like all those times before. But no, she had seen a much
bolder, mouthier, and handsier side of him in that storeroom.

Oh
god, that storeroom. It was her favorite and happiest place in the world right
now. She would make him bring her back to this restaurant again and again, and
he’d better not waste anytime in mounting her and making her eyes roll back in
her head by pounding her brains out in that same storeroom. Her thighs clenched
and she throbbed in frustration.

Back
home, Ayaan and Omar had stayed back for coffee and the cake that Zoya had
baked yesterday. Tanu and Dilshad had gone off to their rooms pleading
tiredness. While Ayaan horsed around with Najma and Zoya in the kitchen, Omar
cornered Asad.

“So,
Mr. Khan, I’m glad to see better sense has prevailed after all?”

Asad tilted his head to the side in confusion.

Omar
sighed. What did Zo see in this bugger?

“Looks
like you both have scratched whatever itch it was that needed scratching, and
finally worked things out. I’m happy for Zo, but it will still take me some
time to forgive you being a total jerk to her. Do that again, and you’ll
have her Jeeju to answer to first. And Aapi and Jeeju have me on speed dial.”

Asad
smiled and held his hand out. Omar shook it and then handed him the keys to his
bike.

“Go
on, I know you’re dying to. I’ll send her out with some excuse. This will give
me some time to get to know Najma better,” and he looked directly at Asad,
daring him to say no.

“You
know, Omar, you’re not half as bad as I first thought,” Asad said
good-humoredly, palming the keys.

“And
thank you, for everything.”

Omar
laughed. “Sure, no problem, and I’m extending my stay by the way, so you’ll be
be seeing a lot more of me.”

Asad
walked away shaking his head. But Omar wasn’t a threat anymore. Though he’d
have to watch him around Najma.

Two
minutes later Zoya came running out and they zoomed off into the night. Her
hands gripped his chest tightly, the side of her face pressed into his back and
her thighs cupped his intimately. He took one of her hands and laced his
fingers through hers. As they stopped at a red light, he flipped the visor open
and pressed her hand to his lips. She slid even closer and he could feel raw heat
radiating from her on his butt. His blood rushed and he throbbed in sync with
the bike.

As
they thundered off again he held her hand over his heart. She couldn’t tell
whose heart she could hear beating but that, and the bike were making her horny
as hell. She wanted to run her hands over those abs and dip even lower.
Unconsciously, she started to grind against him. He took one of his hands off
the handle bar and stroked the inside of her thigh.

The
bike stopped. Zoya raised her head groggily to peer around her. They were back
home. She sighed regretfully. She got off and was suddenly lifted to be placed
in front of him. He slid back to make room for her and started to slowly and
sensuously stroke the tops of her thighs.

“Your turn,” he murmured in her ear before putting the helmet on for her and
gently buckling it and securing the strap under her chin. He let his fingers
feather on her neck.

She
twisted around and spoke through the raised visor. “Mr. Khan, I won’t be able
to do it.”

“Why?”
his hands were already on her waist, kneading her hips and he was pressing his
erection against her butt. She wiggled her butt making him groan.

“That’s
why. What if we have an accident?”

“No
we won’t.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he bit down on her shoulder and
purred in her ear, “c’mon Ms. Farooqui, take me for a ride.”

And
this time it was her turn to be in control while losing complete control. He
would ocassionally have to steady the handle whenever she swerved too much while
in the throes of passion.

It
had begun to drizzle softly and a smoky haze rose from the darkened streets.

In
a nearly deserted alley, she stopped abruptly and twisted around to face him and
sit astride his thighs almost in his lap. She took off the helmet not caring
whether it stayed on the handle bar or fell. She hugged him and growled
fiercely, “Mr. Khan, you’ve been driving me crazy all day. I need you.”

Asad’s
heart leaped. She was such a tiger!

“Zoya,
we are in the middle of the street!”

“I
don’t care. Just kiss me please, Asaaadd!”

The
way she slurred his name completely undid him. He swooped to kiss her pressing
her back onto the bike and cradling her head on the handle bar. He ravished her
mouth with his teeth, tongue and lips. Kissing the dew off her face and neck he
let his hands cup her bre*sts and flicked their erect peaks with
his thumbs.

Placing
her hands beside her head, she gripped the handle bar for leverage and raised
her hips. Her legs gripped his waist as she writhed against him seeking
release.

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